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Judy Belfield 
ICrieti Carsten 

John D„ Guse 
Mark Hul factor 
Ernest McCabe 

David Moore 

John Stobart 

For this issue, to get a submission accepted, 
four of the above had to vote for acceptance. For the 
award winners, only John Stobart is responsible,, 

Manuscripts or cover designs for WORDEATER 
ITumber 39 musfc be-- submitted to John Stobart in room 
C 1069 by February 26, 1982. The deadline for sub- 
missions for WORDEATER Number 38 will have passed by 
the time this issue is out (Nov. 23, 1981)* Manuscripts 
will not be returned. They may be anonymous AND SHOULD 



Michael A. Stillman $15 
David Moore $5 
R. Walser Yale $5 


Len Overcash $15 
David Moore $10 

Cofrer Designs $20 
Ed Girard 

Future Deadlines: 

WORDEATER 39 - February 26, 1982 
40 - April 30, 1982 

Thanks to all who helped collate. 

Geri Harder 
Judy Belfield 
ii ti 

Michael Stillman 
Karen Miller 
Ernest McCabe 
Maureen Mueller 
Karen Miller 
R. Walser Yale 
Melissa Wessell 
it ti 

Cathie Durkee 

David Moore 
it ii 

Cathie Durkee 
Judy Belfield 

R. Walser Yale 
Judy Belfield 
David Moore 


Sleepless Nights ....9..... ...... ».•> 1 

Send Me Some Ears. . • . . . . • • « ' . • . . • . ■ • • . 1 

Apple Jelly. ................ 1 

Blkero o»»«».»ae#.o«oe.o.oooe»e« 1 

I Now Have A Pet Fly. ......... ........ 1 

Come On Over To My House 2 

My Sex Is My Hex ..................... 2 

Smoking Hash ...a...*.............. 2 

Demons And Sweet Forgiveness ... ..... 3 

My Mind Moves Faster . . . „ . . ...... 3 

ixystery ............. j 

Rumblings Along the Fringe ••••«,,... 4 

The Endlessness ............a 4 

Existing. 00a. * . 4- 

I Hear A Cloud Descending 4 

Full-Moon Saturdaynight Blues, . . . «, .... 5 

Suckers Also Die. .... . •••••••■»•••• 5 

Bohemian Poetry ... ...... ..... ...... 5 

My Thoughts Tonight ........ 6 

Rather Desolate. ... .. .....•••. .«•... 6 


Melissa Wessell 
Cathie Durkee 
Judy Belfield 
Georgia L Schimdt 
Bob Frederick 
Ernest McGabe 
Judy Belfield 
11 it 

Michael A. Stillman 

Melissa Wessell 

Judy Belfield 

Cathie Durkee 

Bob Frederick 

Melissa Wessell 

David No Warren 

Judy Belfield 

Michael A, Stillman 

Karyn Skaggs 

Judy Belfield 

Michael A. Stillman 

Judy Belfield 

Michael A, Stillman 

Karen Miller 

Michael A„ Stillman 

Judy Belfield 

Michael A. Stillman 

David Moore 

Mart Dickinson 

&» Walser Yale 

Judy Belfield 

^athie Durkee 

-ols J. Talbot 

Mary Davis son 

Judy Belfield 

&.«, Walser Yale 

David Moore 

Meli ssa Wessell 

David Moore 

Dinda IC, Horras 

Adriane Say lor 
ii 11 

Jo D„ Guse 

Cathie Durkee 


Sharon Odehnal 
ii n 

J= Aschenbrenner 
Adriane Saylor 
3rnest McCabe 
J» D Guse 
Judy Belfield 
Charles Hinton 
David Moore 
Judy Belfield 
Mary Davis son 

Marge Peterson 
Jan Allen 
Den Overcash 
Do Preston 


Unsung Somg In The Middle of a Tail spin 
Emptiness* c„..°..°. ...... 

I Slept In The Solitary Purple „ . e . 
The Seasons Of Our Emotions. . e „ . 
Our Victim a.... . 
Love And Red Ink a....ooooco. 
There Are Only Tragedies And Ecstasies e 
When You Smile a...oo.oooo.. 

i- JLXClX 9 « O *>ooo«Ooroo«#co 

I Climbed Inside The Corridors . . . ,. • 
I Remember ...... .......... 

Andy Was Very Much In Love . . . . . . o 

He Loved Her More D ooaaoooe..o. 
A Storie ......... ....... 

X V7 O j") X* 1 Ci.CS© ©00000 00 000000 

Sunday Afternoon ^o.oo.oooooo 

J.H.G Lt AlCG ©ooo^ftoooeoooooo 

Talk To Me .,...* ... . 

Dear Kose ...*....«....... 

Adriane 's Sunsinger • •........ 

Inspiration • .... o • ....... . 

A Letter To Sgt„ Brooks, .a...... 

Daughters Of Nyx . . . . . . ...•»; . 

Barelegged We Sit . « . . .. » -. • . . . 

Questions .eoeaeo.eoaeoaa. 

Biology Test ..».oo.o.oaooa 
The Argument a a .My Side . . . c . . . 
Exile On Broadway . ... ....... . : ". 

A Labyrinth Of Rooms ........a. 

What Is Fear « . • « . o . « o . o » . « » 
Hours Pass And All Are Weary „ . . . . . 

A New Beginning a.*......... 

Three Little Boys ...aaaa.... 

The Fate Of The Lynx ..a....... 

Nihilistic New Year, o.oooo.oo. 
The Devil Is a...... ......'. 

Holy Hokum ..oooaooooooeo. 
Riding The Rail. 
The Spider <, . .And I 0.0000000 
Pirranns. 000000000 

In The Kitchen, Waiting For Sunrise . . 

1' al laoaaoo.aaooooaaoeo 

Black, Dark With Yellow Slit Eyes . . . 

•Jing 'o.ooaaaaoooooeaacoo 

Rainbows And Storms oe.ooao.«o 
It s Raining O o»oooooooo»o» 

S tO mi a a • a a a o o o o a o o o a o a 

What Are They Going To Send* . . » • a s 
Governmental Love . • . • • o • » » . .. 

Don't Complain To Me About The Economy „ 
Dead Plant's Lament 

Arizona Blues oaaoooooooa.o 
Fourth Of July Weekend » 
Joliet's Finest Newspaper ......'. 

BellS Ring »o.o.o..eooe.eo 
1 ' e L X. C> aooooo.a.eoaooa.a 

JL tie XlOxper oo 
J. Oy uOlClierS ooaeoea.a.aaoo 

The Adventures Of I?<w<jy Ryder „ . . e 


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Geri Harder 

Spiders, snakes , rats, and lice, 
Beetles, ticks, mosquitoes, and mice. 
They slither, they swarm, they suck, they feed, 
They burrow, they bite, they nest, they breedo 

They spontaneously generated inside my head 
And will eat me from inside out till I'm deado 


Judy Belfield 


The ears are here 

after many a year 
of hiding and fear, 
Oia horseback they come 

with hooves a- thrum, 

leaving behind the hill" and the dale, 
the rill and the vale, 
and the nightingale , 
They're here, they're here! 
to hear again 
the hopes of men, 

too long suppressed 

and put to rest 

by the silencing powers 

who passed their hours 

binding and gagging, 

boxing and bagging . 

til tongues went dumb 

and ear 2 fell numb 

and trotted off to kingdom come. 
But the ears are here 

after many a year — 
start up a cheer, 
send out for beer — 

the ears are here 

once more. 


Judy Belfield 

Tap your fingers to your nose — 

the sap is flowing 

like liquid apple jelly,, 
This omnipresent sneezing 

travels like fleas on rats, 

and your eyes are like the river — 
green and dribbly. 
Get your hot breath off my neck — 

take it back 

where it hacks and wheezes 

in the netherworlds of bronchio 

Let it fight its tray 

through pneuraonia«*causing blockages, 

and spill out in some other air 

not near mine. 
Tap your nose with a two-ply spigot, 

and channel your infection 

into the nearest wastebasket, 

where it \j111 sit for days 
on crusty kleenexes. 
The pox be with y^u 

as it was in the beginning 

and ever shall be — 

world without mendo 

Mike Stillman 






Wheel So 

^'jtL •-* j a. f Id »X*m}* «-' -• ■-'- 
4\ *\ 4\ rfV *WV <\ •* 

Karen Miller 

I now have a pet fly 
Who is young and so spry 
That I trained to be a clown. 

If you pick up a swatter 
He'll go hide while you totter 
And come out after you put it down. 

To show off his flair 
When company is there 
His acrobatics are now on stage* 

He appears right on cue 

Only to land in the stew 

And bring my Mother-in-law out of her cage. 

As we pick him from his blunder 

We can' t help but wonder 

If he deposited anything in the poto 

He buzzes off with a smile. 

Having eaten, meanwhile, 

My company must leave on the trot. 

And soon after I 

Am thru training my fly 

My horse will count with his legs. 

And when I succeed 

With that little deed 

My chickens will lay boiled £ggs„ 


Am I to perish from microbe invasion -- 
tiny soldiers armed to the nucleus 
with fever-inducing weapons? 

Not I, 

said the little red nose — 

my apple jelly's still congoaled, 

and the parafin's still uncrrcked, 



Ernest McCabe 


The light fixture turns to a CT. F a and o 
The carpet jumps up and bitec ray big toe. 
The statue of Santa Claus chuckles with' glee, 
And our cat, no a tiger, is chewing on me 
The curtains they turn into pythons <, You see? 

The rats and the spiders jump off of the wall , 
And that elephant there is the worst of them all, 
Is all of this stuff really happening to me? 
Well, hop in your car, drive over and see 


Karen Miller 


My Mother-in-law's house 

is clean for her spouse 
No dust, not even a specko 

So my hubby will complain 

about our lived- in domain 
Gee, does he love to hen peclu 

He doesn't know that the hitch 

is that Mother-in-law's a bithh 
And that's how she stays aheado 

Maureen Mueller 


This is my place. 

Where I can reveal 

the truths in my heart „ | 

and no one hears 

Before the night has 

swept the sky, 

I come here, 

face to face 

with the real me. 

This i3 my place. 

This is my place, 

where no restraints 

are put upon me 

In peace, 

my mind can gather answers 

that no one else 

will give* 

Alone o o e 

This is my place. 

R Walser Yale 

No ant with a brain, 

no filth's that insane 
Near her no dirt dares to treado 

There's a definite characteristic 

, in my husband -- he's chauvinistic 
With demands like Ebeneezer would make 

There's no union to back me 

just hard work to crack me 
And these long hours make my head ache» 

What hubby doesn't see 

are the fun jobs for me 
That I'd turn over to him in a sec 

Things he takes for granted 

proves his opinion is slanted,, 
It's making his poor x/ife a wreck c 

While he listens to rock & roll 

my head's in the toilet bowl 
Since the Tidy-Bowl man is a flake » 

With dish pan hands 

I clean the garbage cans 
That would make my pe-t. maggot: puke. 

For these revolting little chores 

I get n o pay — only sores 
The glamcMr of marriage really fades,, 

The unbalance of the sexes 

for women what the- hex is 
Yot i become*. .. .a }&ck~of — ■all- trade s <, 



Golden, heady pollen 
Toked through handcarved 
Indian Rosewood or brilliant, 
Brass or onyx networks 

Sweet, pungent, burnitg 
familiar heat 
A knife in the chest 
Melting throat and 
Pounding heart 

Breath held deep 

It forces its way out 

In tremendous 

Racking convulsions -- 

Six times as potent 

As the bud, 

It's a concentrated high. 

And as the aromatic 

Languid veils 

Of opacity clear -- 

You realize 
You are s toned <, 

4\ 4\ 1\ t\ 4\ 4\ 4\ 4\ 


Melissa Wessell 

On U. 3. Highway 60 , Arizona: 

The clouds look beautiful , smoke 
lifting from the sides of bushed hills, 
^riving into a cloud on a cold day in Fe'b- 
ruary Q Don your winter coat again , Archie 
we have passed from the desert into a rain 
forest and now into the clouds. And per- 
haps before the hour is up, we will set 
our feet onto the first snows of our win- 
ter,, Out of the clouds and on toward a 
memory-town. Memory toxm '- T here we laughed 
and cried and played; built fires and 
baked beans. The air is sharp and clear 
like a fantastic dream. 

Day to day my life spreads out like 
an undulating amoeba in a bowl of red 
jelly, like the color of hills after time 
has worn them c lowly changing with cen- 
tennial mutations. I fell in love with 
the house and the embodiment of my dreams. 
N°w the car is moving, the clouds are mo- tall; his hairs glisten in the falling snow 
ving , and ray dreams are turning as a leaf and I stop, wondering why it is the snows 
in the wind, upside down and spinning. and not the falling leaves that bring him 

I want to find a dream that I can to this stature, 
snap on tot) of my head like an acorn cap, but that the days have been changing 
so it would always be the same and I would moment by moment and the sun turns wind- 
always be able to think, this is my dream. turnc snowy now today and the ground is 

It's a dusty highway to travel on 

inside yourself 

searching for memories 

forgotten dreams. 

You've got to find them, 

grasp their dusty tails, 

and bring them back to the light. 

Four days of the fog /then/ 

a day in the sun. 

Ladders, railings, ledgec, a thump really knocks you 

But the more you learn, 
the more you can steer 
your own sailboat. 


The Proud Lummox stands straight and 

tnis is my dream. That dream house is the 
first hou"e in all my days that I loved, 1 
really loved, and I thought: I want to 

becoming white-flecked with tire tracks. 
The trees stand with open arms where 
are the birds and there was a cricket in- 

walk down this steep cide nl Y kitchen this morning, driven in by 
this mailbox ond I t * 1G ^ ce on ^ c windshield. I look out the 

live here, I want to 

winding sidewalk to 

want to look out this window every morningY indou and l see smw fallin S s flakes flying 

sit at a desk here with my friend, my type- 
writer U P on top of this hill overlooking 
city lights, winding streets, cars driving 
by like tiny visions in children's books, 

how deep are your dreams? 

how deep and how 

secretly hidden 

beneath miles and miles 

and years and years 

of forbidden hopes. 

and glistening, and the weeds shudder. 
Does the wind forget that there was Spring 
yesterday, that there were tiny leaves 
popping up in delicate surprise? The 
sky is gray and confused with this pass- 
ing of seasons. One today, another to- 
morrow, and all of them turning, turning, 
slowly becoming different every day. So 
I will become the winter today, if that 
is my challenge. I will become the Proud 
Lummox firmly standing with hooves placed 
in geometric planes. 

A -A-A -A -A' ft 'A-ft 

Cathie Durkee 


More than once the eagel screamed 

across the crystal sky. 

More than once the monarch soared 

across the endless breeze. 

More than once my soul leaped 

but was earth bound. 

Be still you searcher 

do not protest. 

Earth's illusion is but a specie. 

Do not c'ssire 

For you'll know less 

in a while. 

The tears careen across the face. 

Life's dreams are recalled. 

The beat of the heart is not true. 

It isn't that simple, 

For pain will last until 

The very end. 

Melissa Wessell 


My mind moves faster than the eye. 

when it comes to emotions, that is. 

Snuggling down into sensations, 

then defensively standing so upright again. 

All the ups and downs keep me 

alert for good measure. 

Spiralling back and forth, 

I call out your name in a dream. 

-'-*.'- - ' - ^ r - . i _ « o». • * fc r . . 

*X* i'*.l*»'^.'>iL. 



David Moore 


We who rule the megaphonic vanguard 

Shall not be wounded by wordless deeds 

And faceless fiends. Nor would we be fooled TTL , ^ _ „. ' ._ 
t,,,, , ... j. , , why can't I rind the word; 

By blank and giobenng facades and ruses „ ., . . _ . . 

T ...... i . , i . ■> i <• *.,-*. To explain ny recent fate? 

Instmcrively projected to hide the fact that _ , . , , . 

,, -, ._ 1. 1 ii -i I have ranrea and raved. 

Your souls are as empty as bloodless turnpikes _. . , ., 

TT , J _. ,,,.,. . ,. , ^ •/-• 1 The tears do not wash away the pain. 

Where the black limosmes of the stereotype God 

No longer roam in search of programmable flockso x . . . ., . n 

i o I am stuck in chis place 

_., , , , , Where my soul feels cold 

Oh stare at the wayfarers who are sprawled , . - , .. . - . , . .. , 

t ... , , ., .. ,- T . r . , As lr death's angel had visitedo 

In a ditch by the side of Life's road, , T , , , . ° _ 

TT , ixn I dead or alive? 

We are not alone 

But of all those coreless masses of defense mechanisms , .•.....,. 

/wv /C /'www* Wf 

Only we have the strength to rudely cry outo 

But fear not 

We slowly sink into the soft and fleshy swamps 

Bubbling with the sorrows of dead and dying souls* 

Our emotional underbellies glittering whitely in the sunlight 

Ready for gory guttings 

As we gently float 

Capsized and limply leaking., 

Here lies Hope 

Yes s Hope is a liar 


Judy Belfield 


I hear a cloud descending , 

its grayness crashing in my silence 
like a head-on collision 

in the countryside at night, 
I feel a cloud hovering over my head, 

its center composed of harpstrings, 
too tautly pulled j 
ready to spring haywire In my hair 
and whip my face, 

cutting long , thin bloodthreads in my skin* 
The cloud at my shoulder 

roars deceptions in my ear, 
like the villain in a melodrama, 
But ; yes ~- 

this is a melodrama, 

sprung forth from ny imagination 

by a masochistic trigger called "creative destruction," 

which is, after all, 

not very creative 

or destructive, 
but only a minor disturbance 
generated in my mind 
and blown out of proportion 
for the moment „ 

David Moore 


Have you seen the timeless seekers When all is ignorantly cuivcv.1 

Twisting the eons into wicked spheres All topsy-turvy and in a flux 

That constantly swirl 'round a center That hides the sameness.. 

They don't even know exists,, "Four dimensions have we 

They warp and wrap last week's mllleniA and many more that you can't see. 

Into a seemingly endless cycle Infinite time to be free 

That vibrates with a.wfa.1 ^tgony Wh&n you drift the mindless sea," 
Cramped and confuted 

Grasping foa- the terminal line ******** 


Judy Belfield 


Big ol' peachy-colored, Saturdaynight moon 

set up high 

in a royally blueblack sky 

makes me start to thinkin 

of wink en and blink en 

and moon-shaped glasses without any rims 

perched on a nose so long and so thin — 

"So long; nasal -voiced songster 

whining a Mr, Moonlight tune„" 

Those liquid beams get drippy 

and soak into my soul 

on this 

dry, sighing, dying nighto 
I listen to the soundwaves crackle 

through my triple-speakered car radio, 

vibrating that "Hey Jude" melody — 
"take a sad song and make it 
better „ »" 

while my heart gets wetter 

from star- tears seeping 

through the dark glassly, 
A hooded stranger points a bony finger 

that lingers in a stop- frame gesture, 

and a ghostly chill speaks in the wind 

of crossing rivers 

in drizzly depths of despair,, 
Yet, the pears — yellow, sweet and juicy, 

rest in a basket on a bastard's knee 

and I can't see the simile 

touted before me 

like grapes to the fox„ 
Don't worry baby, 

everything 5 11 turn out sour, 

I te-"-! myself — 

there aint no lower 

I can go , 

so I'll sit and pitch my woe 

to all who'll listen and soon forget, 

but it don't matter anyhow* 
It's only the moon — 

big ol' peachy-colored, 

Saturdaynight moon — 

that makes me feel as royally blue 

as I do. 

R, Walser Yale 


As I page through 
A Wordeater — 
I can see 
How many people 
Think like me 

But feel sudden 
When I pore over 
Bohemian Poetry,, 

Now writing too fast -- 

I stop 

That incessant echo I 

So what then 
Separates it from 
Plain recorded thought? 

Well , for me 
It comes 

Fast and 

As the chaos subsides 

I try desperately to respond 

To all the ideas 

Flying around my cranium 

Then encoding these ideas 

I set the word upon the page. 

Judy Belfield 


Circus ladies 

In satin suits 

Patterned with a thousand diamonds 

Climb the ropes 

And stand on platforms 

High above the crowds, 

Twinkling in the spotlights 

Like fairy princesses in storybooks o 

They sparkle and glitter 

Like their smiles „ 

They are stars shining in our midst — 

Heavenly things 

Cone to root \/±thin our' three- ring viniort. 

Why is it 

My eye lingered too long 

On the wrinkles 

Under the thick, face paint, 

The grease on the silky costumes, 

The filth at the hems. 

And the dirt, dirt, dirt, 

When all I really wanted, 

Was to believe i 


Judy Belfield 


My thoughts tonight 

are like the mobs that crowd the subways 
in an August afternoon rush hour« 
Like bodies pushing, shoving, being squeezed, compressed, 

teeming, seething in underground tunnels too small for containment, 

yet somehow managing to Accommodate, 
my brain if full of unfinished statements and parts of phrases 
jumbled together incoherently* 
This massed confusion, 

like throngs in a new Babylon tower, 
stretched out lengthwise under the streets, 
steams and sweats in its electric-lit cavern, 
where individuals are not complete — 
only parts of a whole, 
yet there are come, 
seen for mere seconds and notedo 
One gesticulates wildly, 

waving his arms in heated conversation, 
beads of saltwater dribbling down his face, 
down his grimy, city neck, 
crusted outlines ringing damp crescents 
on his jacket- forsaken dress shirto 
Another sits limply on a bench- 
like a ragdoll left out in the rain, 
her droopy, listless limbs 
hanging haphazardly from her torso* 
Here, a sparkling, goldenstockinged one 
in scarlet spike-heeled shoes 
and black satin thighslit dress, shouts out, 

"look at me, look at me," 
but there is nothing beneath the frippery 
but more gaudy emptinesso 
There, a gray-garbed man 

with wrinkles in his skin 

to match the number of minutes in his life, 
tries to melt into the walls 

as he gasps for air in the oppressive humidity,, 
Unfinished portraits in the mob 

wait patiently for the train, 
no more important than the rest, 
except that they were remembered, 

and I sense an insurrection simmering., 

/* /< <\ *V *V 4* s\ 

David Moore 


Empty beaches in the sun 
Where the people have no fun 

Cloudless sky 
Winds blow high 
Through the air 
Where no birds fly 

Crashing waves 
Along the shore 
Flooding the graves 
Of faded slaves 

Dead fish bodies 
In the sands 
Mingling blood 
With forgotten lands 

And out in the ocean 
That dreadful deep 
Where nothing dies 
They only sleep 



Melissa Wessell 


Looking sparkling 
and under a spell 
caught in all over and 
stuck in the game, 

Feeling better, then worse, then tossed in a 
corner and singing the words to some 
old song; babe, it's a heck of a life 

Cathie Durkee 

Drowning and achey, then tossed in a 

sling, and then for a spell getting 

smiling again; oh babe, it's a heck of a life,, EMPTINESS 

Every road •that I take it's got What is this coldness 

too many turns, every rule A not met place 

that I break it's got too many Of steel, gray and black 

burns; babe, it's a heck of a life c 

What makes it lodge 
III Upon the chest 

My feelings are fried Stuck like peanut butter 

and I'm weary and beat. 

Wanna close myself off now What could this be 

and turn myself down. Not caring, not feeling 

Don't you step on my Emptiness at its ultimate 

tracks , you dirty no-good 

cold-headed clam e There has to be a reason 

Your hands may be pure The velvet is gone 

but your soul is so black, Softness, gentleness lost 

and black hearts bleed pale prices. 

Life can not exist like this 
******** Death's silence there 

Not a feeling remains 

Judy Belfield 


I slept in the solitary purple, 

where I Was blind and deaf 

and could not speako 
I had naught but nakedness 

and could not fight the expulsion 

that ripped me from contentedness , 

and so, I was given death, 

which is called, "life", I om whole again, 

My face glowed red I breathe without obstruction, 

as I watched the evening sun jr I think, see, create, 

splatter the horizon with blood, but also feel — 

I felt warmth draining from my veins, and remembero 

being replaced XTith something cold Would that these vivid recollections 

and sweatbeads stopped on my forehead, become as scrub-mopped floors, 

turning to ice with the chillo swabbed in all the forgotten corners, 

I waited for the night, and replaced with 

as a chimney sweep cried on a rooftop, an antiseptic fragrance — 
lone and unappreciated, the perfume 

and a thousand sunsets crept into my heart, of misbegotten memories,, 

armed with weapons for the slaughter. 
There was no turning back, ******** 

nor any escape on the forward path, 
I was pierced with spears, 

the wounds screaming as my soul gushed forth 

and festering pus knitted the gaping gashes together. 


Georgia L. Schmidt 


Emotions are like the changing 
of the seasons. 

They can be warm, 
bright and carefree like the summer, having no 
obligations or commitments „ 

They can be very colorful 
like autumn s and have a crisp spicy 
twist of indifference 

Then like atutumn one can 
be caught off guard by a sudden chill 
followed by the death of nature and its beauty 

Then the winter follows cold, 
distant and isolated,, Yet, there is that 
uneirplainable peace during the winter months 

Like a love that dies , 
away in the fall, one is comforted by a 
blanket of snow to regenerate's 
feelings and emotions., 

Then after this period 
of blissful isolation, we can be like 
the spring, and start fresh and anew. 

Granted s the rains will fall, and the winds 
will blow. But, this will only help us to dig 
our roots down deeper, and we will grow 
stronger and healthier* 

We will then discover that we 
are alive in our feelings; 

That our personality will 
be inviting like the green of the leaves. 

That our attitude will 
be fresh and fragrant like the beautiful 
spring flowers o 

We will also find that 
we have a quiet free-spirited conscience, 
like that of a butterfly or dove. 

We will then be attributed with an 
eagerness to reproduce the beauty of nature c 

And then, once again 
life goes on like the changing of 
the seasons. 


Bob Frederick 


Ernest McCabe 

You knew from the beginning 
that life would treat you fine 
flirt around with every boy 
"and drink a little wine 

Oh yes, how you loved to play 
you knew you could not miss 
to be the one with lots of dates 
you only had to kiss 

Popular you did become 
but kissing was a bore 
boys said that to date again 
you had to do some more 

You sxfore your full allegiance 
to booze, drugs, rock-n-roll 
so you let them squeeze your breast 
so you could smoke a bowl 

Parties come and parties go 
with joints and euchre decks 
upstairs at such a party 
was where you first tried sex 

After that on any night 
from boys you'd get a call 
asking if you would come out 
so with you they could ball 

We all took our turns with you 
and though I've never said 
now that I remember it 
you weren't that good in bed 

Your mattress was our castle 
and on it, we were king 
because there, at our request 
you would do anything 

After many months of this 
at last you came to feel 
that 3?-ou were the one who was 
messed over in the deal 


The blood red of my pen strikes the 
wall and bounces off onto the carpet. My 
wife walks in and screen o bloody murder. 
I reply, "It's only red ink dear." She 
does not hear and goes on screaming vio- 
lently. I pick up a steak knife and her. 
"There, that's what real blood looks like. 
OK?? Stop your bloody screaming will you?" 
I clam the door and head downtown to buy 
another red Bic. 

P.S. This message brought to 

you courtesy of a red 



Then one night it happened 
no farther would you go 
the prick beside you could not 
believe that you said NO 

He still took what he wanted 
he took it all by force 
and so you learned the terror 
of held down intercourse 

After your violation 
you never were the same 
for now you bore the burden 
of earned and unearned shame 

But look back at your life Babe 
I'm sure that 3'ou will find 
before he raped your body 
■&& all had rap^d yov.r mindo 

Judy Belfield 


There are rnily tragedies and ecstasies 

as tine passes 

and my life dies by the clock. 
All the rest is forgotten 

in a J»lur of sameness,, 
So sadly they homogenize, * 

the days not made distinct by some specific evento 
So poignantly unparticular, 

the lazing afternoons 

that melt yellow into yellow — ... , , , _ ._„ 

*!.• *. -u v ,.1- Michael A. Stillman 

wnen nothing seems to change but the date* 

They slip by unnoticed 

like rapidly-flipping calendar pages FLICK 

in an old movie* 

Could I but remember When the wind came 

one unspecial day. And when we were running with the weather 

would I return to relive it? When your mind changed 

No. In the shady depth set adrift 

Even though Emily Webb, chose one A stripe flickered golden 

by Mr, Wilder' s whim. Swallowed by changing skies 

I would not, Floated in Autumn rivers 

for I thrive in my extremes When the night cane 

and drown in similarities — You held my breath and my heart slowed 

but I hear there are some And you got up and walked away. 

content with patterns and predictability, 

who flow through their everydays ******** 

with peace in their souls, 

expecting nothing more than the day before, 

and I envy them — 

but would not trade places 

were it possible,, 


Melissa Wessell 


I climbed inside the corridors search- hurt between words behind eyes beside 

ing for directionality, Treading too sentences. Hurt, And can I make it up 

cautious to make any mistakes, and boun c to you? Will you forgive? 
and fettered in gravelike escape. ArCd You just can't have as much fun as 

twisting and turning under turrets and you want to: you just can't have all 

avenues I avoided blunders. Too late to that much fun. If it isn't the censor 

l'-ugh and too early to listen. That was bureau (your own or someone' else' s) , 

a while ago. it's disappointments and deflated ima- 

Then in September I hurt you and I ginings. And time spread out so lan- 

didn't mean to smart. Didn't mean to be guoroucly I barely heard the difference, 

so dumb and see your eyes so redly un- Look at your laughter, now look at your 

veiled. Don't want to think of your gen- love; look at sweet round faces bloom- 

tie heart hurting, but I see your wounds ing beside you. What you lack in depth 

and I am shy in my sorrow, you may win in surprise. 

It will take time to mend the strings 
I broke. Time and showing y^u over again, 
I value your love, I value your heart. 
And I heard your words spoken out clearly: 


Judy Belfield 


When you smile I can't get enough, 

your eyes twinkle, and I could die of an overdose 
your mouth shows a wrinkle' without efhen cai-lng. 

or two When you don't smile, 

and you are tantalizingly aaJvcttwi you'ire so uhaingular» 

Without even trying* Your face is Bull, 

When I talk to you, you seem dead', 

I wa*t to make you lau/vU a»J laugh., and I could pass you in a crowd 
because when you IsugA, without even noticing. 

your Brail e is so alive, 

Judy Belfield 

I remember 

stretch pants with snap-off straps 
and ski sweaters that matched exactly, 
ratting my hair 

and spraying it hard 

so the wind didn't have a chance, 
lining my eyes with black , 

and coloring my lips with a pink 

that was so light, 

it was almost white, 

but not quite,, 
I wore Chanel Number Five, 

which I bought regularly 

with the earnings I made 

afc my dollar-an-hour, part-time, sign-writing job, 

and on frosty, fall Fridays, 

Cathie Durkee 


Andy was very much in love. He had 
asked Sue to marry him 
several times, but she 
refused. It was spring 

after dinner 

time and once again Andy proposed to Sue. 
just as it was beginning to get dark, "I'll marry you, but only under one 
I put my sixteen-year-old self together condition," Sue said, Andy would 
for you. have agreed to anything. 

You were new then — "That you give me a sleeve job after 

a scrub-faced stranger we're married," Sue explained, 

with sP', black hair Andy was ecstatic. He made the pro- 

that puffed in a p° n padour mise, took her out to buy a ring and cele- 

just like Phil Everly's, brate. Afterwards, he 

and I didn't yet speak to you any haphazard thoushts, floated home dreaming of 

floodlit stadium. 

but chose words carefully, 

while trying to bee 

Miss Personality 

of 1963. 
I remember 

football games 

in the cold s crisp 

our breaths making puffs in the air, 

and hot chocolate too hot to drink, 

that was more water than chocolate, 

and the taste of Salem cigarettes — 
another new habit I'd acquired. 
We were new then — 

we said "please" and "thank you," 

and "ef'cuse me," 

hid some things to make our "good" look better 

and struggled to make clumsy kisses 
seem practiced and perfect, 
but not too. 
I wouldn't have said it was love, 

but something was there — 

and whatever it was , 

I can still feel it 

on co° 1 sutumn n <rnings. 


their future together. 
He drove his car into the driveway of his 
home, and was about to alight when it 
dawned on him. He didn' t know what a 
sleeve job was. The thought only bother- 
ed him for a moment. "I know, I'll ask 
my Dad," he said to no one. "He told me 
the facts of life. I'm sure he'll tell 
me what a sleeve job is." 

The next morning when Andy came doxm- 
stairs for breakfast his father was sit- 
ting in the front room readiic the paper. 
"Ah, Dad. Sue has accepted my proposal, 
however, I need you to answer a question 
for me." 

"Congratulations, Andy. 
Sure I'll answer any questions 
you might have." Andy's father was very 
relieved that Andy was finally going to 
settle down. 

Andy smiled shyly. "Could you tell 
me what a sleeve job is?" 

His father threw down the newspaper, 
jumped up from the chair, back handed him 
across the face and said, "Don't you ever 
talk that way in this house again, or I'll 
disinherit you." And he stormed out of 
the room. 

Andy was upset by this scene. He ran 
from the house, got into his car and drove 
around for .awhile. Then he thought about 
his older brother Pete. If anyone knew 
the answer to this question, Pete would. 
He pulled into a parking spot near his 
brother's apartment and used his key to 
o V5i the door. 



Andy Was Very Much in Love, continued 

Pete was dressing when Andy walked in. 
Once again he told of his upcoming marriage 
and then explained, "The only problem is 
she wants me to give her a sleeve job when 
we're married, but I don't know what a 
sleeve job is," 

Ke no sooner got the words out of his 
mouth when Pete grabbed him by the shirt , 
threw him against the wall, and slugged 
'him in the moutho 

"Get out of here, and don't you ever 
come back again.," Pete pushed him out the 
door and slammed it in his face. 

Dejectedly, Andy walked to his err. 
He looked up at the window of Pete's apart- 
ment, shook his head, and got in. He 
wiped the blood from his nouth and drove 
to Sue's house. He was about four blocks 
away when he happened to see Dave and some 
of their friends outside of Dave's house 
working on a car, Andy pulled into the 

"Dave's been around. Maybe he or one 
of the other guys know the answer," he 
thought as he got out of the car. He 
walked up the driveway and was hailed by 
his friends. They had all attended school 

together and knew each other well, 
Andy told them of the engagement and a 

beer was presented into his hand. They 

made plans for a fun-filled bachelors' 

party when Andy spoke up, 

"Listen, I have one problem, " The 

guys gathered around, "Sue wants 
me to give her a sleeve job after we're 
married," Luckily, Andy was fast on 
his feet. One person grabbed a tire 
iron, another a crow bar, and the 
third a set df chains, and were in hot 
pursuit. They managed to put a few 
dents in Andy's new Chevy before he 
peeled out of the driveway, 

Andy was more confused than ever, 
"What's all this about," he asked him- 
self. He started to drive towards Sue's 
again when it dawned on him, "If I 
marry her, she'll have to tell me what 
a sleeve job is," 

Several xreeks later, Andy and Sue 
were married. After the reception, they 
went to a hotel in a nearby town, Andy 
was changing his clothes in the bedroom 
in anticipation of what was to come. 

In the meantime, Sue was in the bath- 
room ready to take a bath. She stepped 
into the bath tub, slipped, fell, and 
hit her head on the side. 

On the way to the hospital , she died. 


Bob Frederick 


How many times 

have I done my thinking 

with my crotch? 

And told the same old lies? 

Melissa Wessell 


How many times 

have I faced the morning 

all alone 

beneath the cold white sun? 

How many times 

have I done it again 

without doubt 

that life held more than this? 

How many times 

must I drink myself sick 

in penance 

for sins I cannot name? 

How many times 

will the thought of you (BITCH) 

fill me with 

the hate of undead love? 

It seems strange 

months and lovers later 

I 3till find 

jLt's to your ghost I speak. 


loved her 
more than he'd 
loved any woman. 
She would moan and 
cry so sweetly, yet 
she'd never say a 
word. There was 
no bitching from 
this mamma — only 
the trembles from 
her sweet vibrations. 
He picked her up and 
held her gently in his arms. 
It was as if her weight were 
an extension of his limbs and 
when he touched her their edges 
fused. His fingers danced gracefully 
along her strings, 
I couldn't see his hands move 
from one place to another but 
watched them arch along her neck 
in cadences of rapid succession. 
His hands moved up and down her 
curves and she sang him songs 
so sweet and fine. 
She was his love, true and pure. 
No cheating heart or wondering 
eyes. His beautiful goddess, and he 
loved her more than he loved 
any other woman. 

David N. Warren 


You untamed bitch, 
You always think you can hitch, 
On a shadow of another, 
After this one just lefto 

Are you tru t ;hful 

On the wiys you tell a story, 

Or do your lines 

Juct start a storie for us all? 

Do you slip back 

When you feel you're falling, 

When a troubled day 

Starts falling on you? 

Storyteller , you're always on the run. 

Storyteller, where you started 

You should not have begun. 

Storyteller, you don't tell it 

In rhythm or rhyme » 

Storyteller, they caught you this tine. 

You always seem to live 

On that same old game, 

Adding more everyday, 

Thinkin' people believe and rely on you. 

Well maybe one day 

You will see who's the foolo 

You seem to make life 

Seem just like a play, 

Adding what you want, 

And what you don't, you take away. 

Do you wonder why 

They smirk in your face, 

Laugh behind your back, 

And crack jokes everyday? 

Oh, why do they call you names? 

Storyteller, yoy're always on the run. 

Storyteller, wfe re you started 

You should not have begun. 

Storyteller, you don't tell it 

In rhythm or rhyme , 

Storyteller they caught you this time, 

Judy Belfield 


Two bricks 

slapped together with mortar 

in the middle of a wall. 

in the middle of the all, 

never moving, 

yet changing color with age, 

taking on dispositions 

and character 

through the seasons' turnings 

one into the other. 
As the years pass, 

and the weather beats their faces 

taking away forever 

the vestiges of nexmess, 

it smootho s out their rough 


but ah I 

the mortar also crumbles 

little by little, 
and one wonders 

what holds them together — 
what indeed! 
Yet the time dissolves 
into memories — 

some sweet, some bitter — 
and there is always 
another day 
and another, 
awaiting renovation 
or the wrecking ball. 


Michael A, Stillman 


A battle-worn sword 

Is all that time has kept 

To tell of a life. 

Lay the blade near your heart 

And it will tell you a tale 

Of a day when a knight 

Would put his life to the test 

For honour 

And a man would ask God 

To decide what was right 

And wrong. 

History can't recall his name 
But we call him sir. 
He defended the crown 
And came home to his lady 
With a golden bi-ow. 
Where is he now? 

Yet his lady lives on 
In the heart of a maiden 
Living her tt/entieth spring 
On butterfly wings- 

I look in her eyes 
Knowing I carried our crest 
In a battle 
She doesn't remember. 
When I whisper of our life 
I hear the horn's echo, 
Calling the brave to fight„ 
We unfux-1 the silk banner 
And defend what's right. 

Our king is in front 
On a steed shining and white 
Like the foam on the brook 
Or £be- look in his eye* 


( continued) 

Sunday Afternoon, continued 

He' £3 been awake all night 
Preparing for dawn 
A gaunt face drawn and weary 
But a heart that fights on 

The enemy surrounds us now 
And our forces are few„ 
X^nen I draw ray last breath s 
It will be for my king 
And my Lady„ 

She touches my arm.. 

"Where were you?" 

I was lost in her eyes: 

a reverie of colour 

golden and green 

that expanded and burst 

like a bubbling dream 

But where am I now? 

Karyn Skaggs 

VV 4\ if\ *\ /V VW* ** 


I tried to walk across the frozen lake 

And just as the ice started to crack 

A hand came from the darkness 

and saved me 

Then the sun came and melted the ice 

and darkness -- 

I knew I had found somethi ng 

but what? 

Was this an endless love? 

Seasons changed and so did we 

I tried to preserve the warmth 

but your leaves fell farther from me„ 

You fell on fresh greener grass, 

I had lost the warmtho 

I stand on the lake again and try 

to walko 

The ice is cracking again — • I fall into 

No one is there,, I sink into the cold. 
I wonder where your warmth is now B 
Will the sun ever shine again? 

/v 7* "Z* ** *wv *» *v 

Judy Bel field 


Talk to me — 

even in a daydream 

or a passing thought; 

cause I'm feeling so desperate today 

and I'm building . 

a dangerous dividing wall 

between me and the world, 

putting up the bricks one at a time 

too quickly,, 
Talk to me. 

Say me something of you 

and I will grab it 

like a starving beggar 

and cram it in my moutho 

Without regard to Emily Post, 

I will let its juices stain my chin, 

for I can taste your voice, 

and it is the exquisite 

sweetsour candy that I crave,, 
Talk to me. 

I don't care what you say 

or how you say it — 

only that you do; 

it will make the next minute 
less fearful 
and less alone » 

Michael A„ Stillman 



Dear Rose, 

I've been thinking about our rela- 
tionship,, Obviously, there's no way we 
can salvage it now, but I'll always remem- 
ber our days together, and the mnmniaries 
I'll leave behind,, Remember when we first 
met? I asked about the message on your 
t-shirt, and you said that it was in 
braille. I thought that you were fibbing 
until later, after I nibbled on your ear- 
lobes and cut my lips on those Eiffel 
Tower earring s„ The first time I called 
you on tho phone, yan said that I gave 

you good vibrations. What was that 
whirring noise in the backg round? A cou- 
ple of months later my heart was touched 
when you reached out and called me on 
vacation, all the way from Florida, My 
wallet was touched when you reversed the 
charges „ 

Remember when you invited me over for 
some "hot frenching"? I was surprised to 
find out that you meant a gourmet dinner. 


On me. 



Dear Rose, continued 

You were always such a crepe, dile tears (to match vour complex- 
Later I turned out the liqht, ion, I auess) , I wondered why did 
we hissed, and I tingled all over, I tolerate you for so loner, t rrue^s 
Then I realized that I still had my I might have a serious masochistic 
finger in the socket. You said that streak in me 
you had a soft tonaue, but vou never The sexiest thina that vou 

mentioned those hard teeth. The 
next morning I asked if you were 
on the pill and you said, "Oh no, 
I get a balanced diet." 

Perhaps the last straw was 
when vou had the nerve to call and 
ask me to nick up some douche on the 
way over. I asked what kind, and 
you said, "industrial strenqth." p 

When I told vou that I was lea- 
ving, and vou cried all those croco- 

could do would be to turn vour hack 
on me. 

Yes, I 

Par ewe 11 


still have vour tooth- 


Jddy Bel fie Id 

Michael A. Stillman 



He stands bronzegolden, 

waiting for Apollo's cbariot 

to race across the sky 

and herald the coming of day. 

He, a tempered Phoebus, 

a god cast in metal, 
fashioned by hands 
skilled in the turns 
and curves of sinew, 
bears himself with pride 
on thick, steelv legs — 
a motionless sentinel 
regarding the horizon 
for the first sians of light, 
watching tirelesslv 
for the daystar 
throucrh manmade eyes , 
so that he might aive voice 
to a silent serenade. 

I will sinq vour song for vou 
and all will hear, 
and know the sun is nicrh 
by the resonance of passion 
that escapes my lungs 
and bursts forth over the fie 
echoinq through, the tall err as 
and beyond , 
unto the ends of the sea. 

I will be vour ladylove — 

the one vou will not need or 
when I brush your slowly warm 
with a soft, sudden kiss. 


Take mv trembling hand 
Walk me through this land 
Let the sun shine on my face me answers to embrace 
And a hriqbt-eyed maiden 
Like you. 

Rloodbeats poundincr throucrh my head 
A thousand marchina boots atread 
The fickle wheel of fortune clicks 

a era in 
The empty eyes of manv watch it snin 
Her bandana torn 
A vow unsworn 

In the lady's eyes you see vour name 
The fallout of your dreams 

ablaze in flame 
Ideals grow older 
Horizons smolder 
Pon't use the die 

but keep on with the name 




ina thiah 



Karen Miller 


Sgt. F. brooks 


Hilton Po lice Station 


Dear Sgt, Brooks V 

I am sorry that I'm writing to in my heart I knew somethina was 
you rather than comina to see vou in wrona, S^t. Brooks. If t^ore is 
person? Hat I am afraid. Police love between two oeoole, that is not 
stations scare me and the police aska natural reaction toward closeness. 
a lot of auestions, hut never seem And later that ni^ht, when he 
to let you answer them. I am afraid suT-ested a few arotesaue alterna- 
you would not let me tell you ev- tives to our simple, aentle love- 
erything that happened — that you making-, I got sick to my stomach. 

At that time-/ I thought it was iust 
that he had had. too much to drink 
at our reception , since that was 
the. first time I had seen him drink- 
ina booze since I met him. I was 
it was cheap. able to talk him out of those ideas 
money at the he had that niaht, but as the 

months rolled by* he became more 
and more insistent and forceful in 
his perversions, especiallv as he 
began drinkina more and more. It 
swasn-'t until months later that his 

would not hear me out. I did not 
mean for things to happen the' way 
they did. I don't want to spend 
the rest of my life in jail. 

I rented the townhouse at 
1313 Grossmoor because 
I didn't make a lot of 
small office where I worked. I 
needed a place to live because I 
left my husband. I had to leave 
him. I couldn't take any more. 
When I married Jim ~ this was. .Tim' 

second marriage.; — I was the hap- 
piest airl around. How could- any- 
thing that started out so beautiful 
nd up so rotten? It wasn't always 
«£hat way, Sgt. Brooks. Before we 
aot married, Jim was the kindest, 
most polite person a airl could 
ever hope to meet. He escorted 
me to nice restaurants, ran to 
open doors for me, bought me roses. 
And when we drove anywhere, Jim 
would always say, "Come sit next 
to me. I can't bear to be apart 
from you -— - not even here in the 
car." He was so sweet and gentle 
and loving. 

Sgt. Brooks, how could I have 
been so naive? I was worse than 
naive, I was downriaht blinded. 
I should have seen warning sians, 
there must have been something that 
would have given me a clue to what 
was to come. Actually, thinkina 
back, the first clue came on our 
wedding day. We were leavina to 
go on a weekend honeymoon, and when 
I got into the car, I slid over to 
sit next to Jim iust as he always 
insisted I do. But, when I did, 
he shoved me away I Re actually 
pushed me so hard that I slid back 
across the seat riaht into the 
door and hurt my arm. "net away 
from me," he said, "Do you always 
have to be sittina on top of me?" 
I was shocked and hurt, but I told 
myself that he was just nervous 
because of the excitement of the 
weddincr and all. But, deep down 

mother finally told me that he was 
an alcoholic. He was "on the wa- 
aon™ at her insistence at the time 
I met him. She had felt that he 
could have a better chance of 
"findina a nice airl and settling 
down again" if he staved away from 
the alcohol. But, alcohol was 
in his blood, and the more he drank, 
the more violent he became. He 
beaan breakincf thinas in the house, 
and. throwing £hinos. And when he 
was mad at me, he would beat me -- 
hitting me on the head mostly, and 
kickina or hittina me on the knees 
with a stick. "Call the nolice," 
he used to say, "and tell them I 
nave you that bruise 
You can ' t prove it . 
in your, face!" If I 
that he still could 

on your knee. 
They'll lauah 
had known then 
be arrested for 

beatina, maybe I would have called, 
but I believed him that they * 7 ould 
lauah at me. I felt I was trapped. 
So I continued to live with him 
and to go to work every day, ^or 
he insisted I work. I had to work 
to pay the bills because his pay- 
check went for booze. He even kept 
a bottle under his pillow. And I 
continued to slave around the house, 
for Jim was very demand. ina about 
housekeenina. There were many 
nights I had to ao without sleep 
in order to keep up with the cookina 
and clean ina and laundry and aoino 
to work every day. And when I was 
sick, Jim was even more denandina 
he would, sav, "You're not really 


"You're not renllv 

Sergeant Brooks, continued 

sick, you're iust tryino to get out "Where are vnu, Holly, Come 
of doing the housework . " Once I out, come out wherever vnu are. I 
asked Jim to please help me do some-know you're here because I heard 
thing -- even iust take out the gar-noises. Come on, Follv, vou can't 
baoe 7 nlease I don't feel good, hide forever." Then the closet door 
But Jim just said, E 'If you want the flew onen and I stopped breathing, 
damn garbage out of the kitchen? I My heart started leaning and ^nun^- 
know a good nlace vou could put it. ina until I could hear the nounr 1 - 
You could shove it up your ass!' : ina echoing thoruah the house. I 
And Jim thought that was really fun-waited for him to puII me out from 
ny and he walked away laughing, under the blankets, but, finally, 

And so I ran away. And I look-the closet door closed. I could 
ed for a nlace to live and I found hear him moving around the bedroom, 
the townhouse on Crossmoor. I then finally leavina back toward the 
thought I was lucky to be alive. Sot", kitchen. 

Brooks. I wanted nothina more than "Well, I guess I'm oettino the 
to be alone and pull myself back to-DT's or something. This calln for 
gether again. So, earlier this eve-a drink. I know that dumb tea- 
ning, I made a hot cup of tea and drinking bitch doesn't have any good 
snuggled up in rav bed. to read and stuff around here. Coor" thing I car- 
relax. And then I heard him. rv a small suppIv for iust such emer- 

I heard the noises at the front^encies. " 
door and I shut off my bedroom li^ht Then I heard more noises, but 
and listened. I was scared, Sot. they were muffled and I couldn't 
Brooks, and when, a few seconds la- hear clearly. It sounded like he 
ter, I heard the door onen, I start-was still talking, but I couldn't 
ed to shake all over. I knew he hadauite make out what he was saving, 
found me. "Looks like my sweet lit-I careful ly crept out from under the 
tie wife isn't home," I could, hear blankets and, still on my hands and 
him talking to himself. "Probablv kneen, I reached up to open the 
out whoring around on her dear lo- closet door a little so I could hear 
ving husband. Ha, ha, ha. well, what he was saving. I was honing he 
that's all right, I'll just sit was getting bored and was croinn to 
down and wait to give her the sur- co find a bar to ouzzle in. Then I 
prise of her li^e." could get out of there and go to 

I could, hear him moving around, the nolice. 
Sgt. Brooks, so I decided, to call As I opened the closet door, 
the police. My phone was on the ta-l could still hear muffled voices 
ble next to the bed, but I was a- and I realized he was talkino to 
fraid he would hear me, so very someone, but I couldn't figure out 
slowly I got out of bed. I picked who. 

up the phone and cautiously carried "Don't worry. She noes through 
it into the closet. I closed the these fits ouite often. When they 
closet door and sat down on some get worse, she has to back to the 
blankets I had stored in the corner loonev bin for awhile. Paranoia, 
of the floor. I carefully dialed I think they call it. But, don't 
the police emergency number and worry, I'll see to it that she won't 
when they answered, I whisoered, bother you again. As a matter of 
"This is an emergency. My name is fact, I'll guarantee iti Yef?» than] 
Holly Martin. My address is 1313 you, officer. Ccod nioht." 
Crossmoor. A man has broken into The nolice! 

my house. Please come quickly." They did understand ^v phone 
But the voice at the police station call and they came! And now thev 
said, "Lady, please sneak up, I were ^one! And Jim knew I was there . 
can't understand, you." So I tried I've got to get out of here guick! 
to speak slower and more distinct* 3 The window! I've got to get this 
ly. I said, "Please, I am in dan™ window o^en. He'll kill me, I 
ger. 1313 Crossmoor, Martin." know ^g will. It's opening, I think, 
Put, just then I hear^ a noise so I thank Cod. Ouch, ooucb. 
hung up. I could hear him moving a- Yes, Sgt. Brooks. He found me 
round and. I realized he was look- trying to get out of my bedroom win- 
ing around the house so I hid mvselfdow,, Re came un behind me, grabbed 
and the phone under the blankets ancme by the hair and jerked me back 
tried to null down some clothes into the room, nitchino me onto the 
from the hanireirs above me to heln bed. 
concea] me. "Coino somewhere, bitch? " he 


Sergeant Brooks, continued 

said. "Thought you could net away 
from me again, huh?" He slapned me 
across the face. "Where the hell 
were you hiding;, huh? You miqht 
as well get through that thick 
skull of yoursthat you aren't goina 
to get away from me ! " Then he got 
sarcastic. "Now is that any way 
for a loving wife to treat her lo- 
ving husband? Why", I even missed 
you! Ha/ ha, ha/ ha, ha. Want to 
kiss and make up? 58 He seized my 
arms and dragged me toward him. 
He smelled of booze and reeked 
of sweat and filth. I turned a- 
way from him. He grabbed me by the 

"What's the matter? Ain't 
I good enough for you anymore? 
Mighty fancy lacy pajamas you have 
on. bid you buy them for a new 
boyfriend to see? Well, your hus- 
band wants them off I" 

I wanted to throw up. I said 
to him, "Please, Jim, just no away 
and leave me alone. I haven't 
loved you for a lona, lona time. 
Please, I just want a t divorce. "' 

! 'A divorce? I "11 'kill you 
first. Nobody divorces me I" 

Sgt. Brooks, that's when my 
mind started to piece together 
some facts. I sputtered, "Jim -— 
your first wife — the car acci- 
dent — how did the accident really 
happen? " 

"Shut up you stupid bitch! v 

"Achh, my throat, Jim, I can't 
breathe ! " 

Jim was probably just tryina 
to scare me, Sft. Brooks, but I 
guess I panicked. As I flung my 
arms around, trying to struggle 
away from him, my hand found the 
lamp on the table. I only meant 
to startle him so he would release 
his hands from my throat. I must 
have swung too hard. I hit him 
on the back of his head. When I 
realized he was dead, I panicked 

and ran away. I left Jim in the 
townhouse on Grossmoor, 

I am writing, y.ou this letter 
from the Mis. denot -- I will be 
in Mexico by the time vou receive 

I hope you understand. I don't 
want to go to jail. 


Mrs. Holly T *artin 

T '?ell, hopefully, the nolice 
won ' t want to be bothered with me 
after they read this letter. Since 
it appears to be self-de'f anse, they 
should just let the matter drop, 
rather than ^o through the trou- 
ble of dealina with Mexico. Ah, 
I finished just in time — there's 
the phone. "Hello? Bob, my love! 
* T hat? Yes, the apartment — and 
the furniture you bouaht me -- it ' s 
all fantastic. nut wait! I have 
some good news to tell you. I trot 
my divorce! Yes, you micht say 
it was hand-delivered by the judpc 
earlier tonight. I was just ha- 
ying a drink to celebrate t .e oc- 
casion -- hurry over, so you can 
celebrate with me! You can't? 
Why? What! Your wife? A car ac- 
cident! How did it happen? Sopio- 
thino must have jumped in front of 
her and made her lose control of 
her car — ■ oh, how horrible! Yes, 
sweetheart, I understand. You make 
the arrangements for the funeral , 
and when every thino settles down, 
I'll be waiting for you riaht 
here . Bye , -T-ove . " 


Well, now I can settle down and 
relax and finish off that bottle. 

****** * * 




A blind spot in the heart's eye, 

A misunderstanding on the road to paradise, 

Tripping on destiny's doorstep. 

All night long 
All night loner 
All night long 

Thinking of you 
Thinking of you 
What will I do? 

Movies in my mind 

Like a deaf man's river 

I look down at my hands 

And my blood brinos a shiver. 


Daughter, s of Nyx, continued 

I replay every casual word, 
Every flicker on your face, 
Every touch of you hand, 
Every moment of embrace = 

The river will reach the ocean, 
And the torrent will be calm. 
The daughters of Nyx will smile 
And the torment will be calm. 


Judy Belfield 


Barelegged we sit 

in the lights- -out living room, 

curled up like fetuses 

in our respective chairs, 

as cigarette smoke writhes in the air 

like transparent Medusa-head snakes. 
The flickering television screen 

showing an old black-and-white movie 

flashes faint illuminations 

on your thick, muscular thights, 

and a dusky grayness 

plays on your face. 

It is halo-esque, 

this television light, 

though you certainly are not divine — 
never were, in fact ~ 

but there is a magic quality dancing about you, 

as the film's lavishly orchestrated score 

floats through the room. 
Perhaps it was this magic 

that first attracted me to you, 

I think, 

as you sit, 

completely unaware of my meandering thouahts. 
"Nineteen- forty- two, " 

you say, 

suddenly shaking me back. 

I stifle a Huh? reaction 

and quickly cover my inattention. 
"Nineteen-forty-six, " 

I say, 

"and I bet you don't know who the little quy is, 
w Get the book," 

you say, and I do, 

turning on the light — 

which breaks the spell. 
"Nineteen- forty-f ive. I was closer/ 3 

I say. 
"Okay, okay. Who's the little guy?" 
"Elisha Cool:, Jr. „ . . 

do you really want to see 

the rest of this movie?" 






Would it mean anything to you 

If it meant everything to me? 

After all this time, 

I still can't telle 

What do you care about? 

What matters to you? 

Your mind seems so shallow, 

But your eyes seem so deep, 

Am I giving it all to an illusion, 

A hallucination, 

The crystallization 

Of a kaleidoscope imagination? 

I wish I had some way of finding out 

* ;V it ;V -k •!: i; -.V 

David Moore 


"Termites have a type of 
protozoa that live in their gut," 
stated the biology teacher. 

"Gross," exclaimed the young 

"Well, you have some living 
in your gut/ 3 replied the biology 
teacher , 

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, 
ha," laughed the chorus , 

"Sick, We'd better kick 
her out/' said the kid in the 

One of the more intelligent 
guests noticed the silvery container 
r - Golly, gosh, what is that?" he 
asked, stunned by his brilliant dis- 
covery „ 

"Heck, I don't know/' an- 
swered the preacher , 

Another curious bystander 
thrust it at the younc bride,, "It- 
must be for you all. Why doncha 
onen it, huh? huh? Hurry up lady, 
blackl ain't c?ot all day." 


Nobody seemed 

and silver jacket, 

to hear him, 

"That protozoa allows the 
termite to digest wood cellulose, 
continued the teacher, "Without 
that protozoa, the termite could 
eat all the wood it wanted and 
still starve to death," 

She put her cake down, tabb- 
ed the container, swallowed what 
she had invested, and twisted the 
lid off the cylinder. 

Good Gawd, was it ever dis- 
gusting! The sarnie slimy thincr 
squirted out and nlepped onto the 
floor. It Quivered like jelly for 
Yes. symbiotic relationships a moment, then flowed under the 
seemed to be amusing that day. No table, 

such humor surfaced when the tea- "Gross!" exclaimed the bride, 
cher went on to parasitic relation-droT^ninn the container. She didn't 

ships , 

Meanwhile, across town, two 
people were getting married. For 
them, and their friends and rela- 
tives, it was an important event. 
But nobody else much cared. Ex- 
cept the preacher. So it wouldn't 
have been a very noteworthy event, 
save for the gift left by a myster- 
ious stranger. 

He crept into the church 
and placed a cylinder of shiny 
metal u^on the table with all the 

know that she '^ echoed the words of 
the young lady over at the ccdeae, 

"Oh, don't touch it!" wailed, 
the mother-in-law. 

Finally somebody called the 
handyman. He entered, coucrhing vio- 
lently, " T7 here the hell is this 
thin^ ? " he muttered , 

"Don't swear/' snapped the 

"Cruddy thing ' s under the ta- 
ble/' said the man who'd given the 
cylinder to the bride. 

The handyman snorted as he 
looked under the indicated table. 

'Geesh! I'm not touchin ' that 

frigging thing," 
riot a dustpan and 

So he went a 
a hacrrie, '" 

edibles set out for the reception 
Then he crept back out the door, 
snickering softly. 

Soon the wedding guests were 
eating and drinking and cutting 
up the beautiful cake for no reasonto his surprise, the aoop crushed 
other than to eat it. They had into the pan of its own accord and 
absolutely no resnect for the in- freely slid into the elastic bag. 



Biology -Test, continued 

The handyman promptly sealed that 
bag and left the room. The recep- 
tion continued o 

By two in the afternoon, the 
handyman had appeared in the off- 
ice of one of the biology teachers 
at the college. "I don't know 
what the bloody hell this critter 
is Doc, but I figured you'd want 
a gander at it . " 

He left the baggie on the tea- 
cher 's desk and rushed off. The 
teacher poured the thing into a 
beaker and placed it in one of the 
labSo He would study it whenever 
time allowed . 

That night it began to snow. 

The next day, the biology 
class had a botany test in their 
lab — first test of the semester , 
as was inevitable o There were 
three questions on the blackboard, 
but most of the test consisted of 
looking at. specimens and answer- 
ing questions about then. 

After almost twenty™ four 
hours in the beaker, the blob- 
thing was getting bored . It knew 
there was more to its world than 
tiny containers. So, slowly, 
almost painfully, it forced its 
mass to the lip of its tiny pri- 
son. Success! It oozed out onto 
the shelf. Free at last, it was- 
ted no time in dripping onto the 

It flowed around -on the floor 
of that empty lab for awhile, then 
it streamed out through a doorway 

and into the lab where the noor, 
innocent students were beinn tested I 
Only four people were left, the 
others having departed . The tea- 
cher, the young lady, a kid in a 
blue coat, and the kid in the 
black and silver coat. The first 
two students were still testing, 
but the latter was just hanaincr 
around. After all, the Beverly 
Hillbillies wouldn 't be on for an 
hour and a half. 

The young lady and the kid in 
the blue coat didn't see the crea- 
ture. They were too busy gazing 
at specimens. . The teacher didnt 
see it gush around his feet. He 
was reading a taxidermy magazine. 
The kid in the black and silver 
coat didn't see it. He was gawk- 
ing at a tank full of ferns. 

It slid under another door, 
into a hall. Desperate for com- 
plete liberty, it oozed under an 
exit door. Out into the freezing 
winter blizzard. 

The kid in the black and sil- 
ver coat decided to leave before 
he made a nuisance of himself. So 
he went out into the hall and 
stared blankly at the falling snow. 

A moment later, the young 
lady came out. They soon struck 
up a conversation. They talked 
about the test in general, and 
kelp in particular, as they walk- 
ed out to their respective cars. 
Accidently, not even aware of it, 
he stepped on the frozen blob and 
crushed it into a thousand shards. 

***** * * * * 

Mart Dickinson 



How dare you! How dare you 
let your lover run your life . . 
How could you let her hurt me 
through you? To let her take 
her insecurities out on me is 
appalling. It is too bad that you 
cannot see through those blinders 
she has put over your eyes You 
would see how subjugated (pussy- 
whipped) you are, and how afraid 
you are to take a stand for your 
own rights! 

You say that you have your 
own will, that you can do what 
you want . . .if this is so . . 
why do you spend most of your time 
trying to keep her appeased? You 
let her dictate almost your every 
move. It has gotten to the point 
that you do her will without her 
even having to be there! When 
I look at you, I see a mnn try ing 
to. navioate a sraa.ll boat that 

has been riddled by termites and 
decay, and who is so busy pluggina 
and re-r>lug<rincr leaks and holes, 
that he forgets to steer, and ends 
up smashing his small boat on the 
jagged rocks, and up on the beach 
floats the debris of shattered 
dreams and longings, and probably 
your only chance at life. 

Are you aware of your direc- 
tion? Can you stand ur> and declare 
your rights? That is not to say 
that you should push away neonle 
who care and want to helr>, just 
don ° t let your lover take over 
your thinking process. You are 
enthralled just by the thought 
that this woman accepts you. 
Look around you — your friends 
accept you and think you are beau- 
tiful. Think enough of yourself 
to look at your relationship ob- 
jectively. What do YOU want frc: 1 



The Aroument, continued 

a relationship? It is YOUR show, 
so decide . „ , do you want to 
lose your will, to lose your right 
to talk to whoever you want, to lose 
your decision-making capabilities, 
to live with jealousy, to have just 
sex?Or c.o you want joy and lauahter 
and love and friendship and free- 
dom and to really make love with 
(not to) your lover? If a relation- 
ship is fragile,, is it x^orth keep- 
ing? We all do what we have to do 

to keep our place in the world , . 
and we all have to decide if the 
sacrifices are worth it. Please! 
Steer your own boat . . . open 
your eyes to the joy available to 
you. There is enoucyh love cut 
there to overwhelm you . . . crowds 
of people that will accept you 
just the way you are= It hurts 
me deeper than any wound to :?ee 
you being controlled . „ . . . . 

A ft * & * ;?f i: ft 

R Walser Yale 


Last night I walked 
^Around my block, 
It wasn't late 
But the sun had gone. 

I walked around my block 

The core of my world. 

In long strides 

I took the lot 

Across the street 

And I started to smoke. 

I see them 

And I slow 

To laugh at them. 

But they are transfixed 

By the light, 

And do not see me. 


By the green light 

They hurry off ~~ 

In their mobile asylums. 

I headed north -— 
The old lady 
In the window 
Fluttered and 
Slowly gazed 
After me. 

I was an outlaw — 
Savage street youth. 

The streets emptied — 
T he d im light 
Casts huge shadows 
Of a Solitary figure, 

Turning east 

I ascend the stairs 

To the hill 

To look down on cars. 

An apprehensive 
Laotian walks beneath me 
But doesn't r -are look up, 
Not even in America. 

I turn west — 

As I descend the steps 

At the red light 

Cynical drivers 

Lock their doors. 

They are afraid 
Of the derelict — 
The derelict fears 
Their fear . 

In my path ~~ 
A still alarm, 
In my wake — 
A sigh of relief. 

The glowing ash 

Burns my finger 

And I turn 


To escape 

The paranoid night. 

I walk to the porch 
And turn out to 
My childhood 
Playground — 
Black. ,, numb , wi Id . 

Suddenly cold, 

I enter the house 

And lock, out 

The nerverse night. 

ft ft ft ft ft ft ft ft 


Judy Belfield 


A labyrinth of rooms 

with unfinished oakwood floors 
opens one into the other 
and another into another 
through doors and doors unclosed,* 

standing sentry, 

three-quarters ajar 

to each corresponding wallo 
Something watches 

through the turret windows ~ 

its gaze as penetrating and as farreaching 

as the sunrays 

that dance into the empty rooms 

hand in hand with twisting flecks and specks of dust* 
It sees old feet approaching 
in plain, black shoes 

sturdy, leather, simple, tired shoes — 
and behind them 
a rubber- thonged delicate pair 
which cautiously, yet vibrantly, enters 
and stops o 
The something watches a faceless, xirhite-haired man 
in plain, black shoes 
take off his shirt 
to reveal a crepe- skinned chest -- 

flabby, loose, papery, ashencolored chest — 
and extend his floppy forearms in invitation 
while he smiles without teeth 
and whispers without lips* 
sees a girl of fifteen 
meet the man's embrace, 
her face puzzled, 
then surprised, 

as the folds of their clothing 
fall silently and vanish., 
It barely seems to happen 

and there is no memory of any sequence, 
but only ephemeral details 


but the something has seen 

and remembered all 

and it follows her doggedly the daylong after, 

almost imperceptibly tapping her shoulder now and again c 

she says after once such tap, 
and the sky is pinkly gray 
until the night settles in 
tucking its fingers under her chin, 

interlacing hands with the allseeing something 

and circling her head in haze, 

Cathie Durkee 


Fear is being a child of seven 
and realizing that there is 
something wrong with you that 
only God and a very skilled 
surgeon can correct 

fear is being very ill and 
seeing things climbing your 
bedx-oon walls,, when you have 
a fever of 106 

fear is having the doctors 
perform test after test and 
still shake their heads, not 



What Is Fear 

, continued 

fear is being put on a cold 
table and looking up at the 
moving ceiling as the nurses 
whell you down the hall 

fear is a parent watching 
all this and placing their 
faith in God that their old- 
est child lives 

fear is. watching this child 
grow up never knowing from one 
day to the next if one kidney, 
damaged, will ever function 

fear is seeing the child regress 
emotionally, not able to cope with 
a life even an adult would find 

fear is knowing she can destroy 
herself and you are helpless 

fear is wondering one day 
to the next , one month to the 
next, and one year to the next, 
what this child of yours will 
have to go through 

fear is realizing that this 
child is flesh of your flesh 

rf\ *> /\ rf* t\ 4\ *\ *% 

Lois Jo Talbot 


Hours pass and all are weary 

And finally the clock says go 
But one lone worker lingers at h^s de 
And we wonder why this is so 

Everyone is gone no\J 

The room is growing dim 
£yt still he sits and works 

Because he feels lonely within,. 

The minutes pass and soon he knows 
That he too must be on his way„ 


He grabs his hat and starts for the door 
As a kitten runs across the floor,, 

""Poor lonely thing," the man thinks to 

And he picks it up to stroke 
The kitten snuggles close and purrs 
And he feels an inner glow* 

A warm feeling came over the man 
And he felt loved once more 

All because of a stray little kitten 
That he picked up off the fioor„ 


Mary Davis son 


Day after day we drive into the park- 
ing lot, carefully selecting our slots so 
our children won' t have to walk too far 
in the icy weather = Day after day, we 
both arrive early — - we don't want our 
children standing in the cold waiting,, 
Day after day, I notice this fiftyish 
weatherworn man who always parks next to 
rae„ In the heart of the winter , he keeps 
the engine of his rust-eaten station wa- 
gon running. "Why doesn' t he get his muf- 
fler repaired?" I wonder all through Jan- 
uary, February and Marcho We never speako 
Our eyes rarely meet, though my two-year- 
old and he exchange waves daily,. 

The children are being dismissed from 
school o I unlock the car doors and brace 
myself for the onslaught,, Day after day, 
my rear view mirror picks up this khaki- 
clad, gray-haired man with the crewcut 
trudging out of the car, walking to the 
school building to meet his son. He 

bends his weary body and his ungloved hands 
make sure the boy's jacket is zipped all 
the x-7ay up and the muffler is covering 
the nose He walks the boy back to the 
car with his arm around him B He rits 
in the car for a moment to examine his 
son's paperso Pride beams from the tired 
eyes on sight of the fine work* 

Finally, spring pierces through 
winter's chill The man is no longer 
there to pick up his con. I meet his wife 
who has walked over to pick the boy up» 
She tells me that things are getting 
better,, Her husband, having been laid 
off of work since Christmas, has now been 
recalled,, This boy is the youngest of 
eight children,. How the rent can be paid,, 
Yes, things will be better now. 

Then, one day after school, my boys 
bring home the news — their friend' s fa- 
ther — "You know, Mom, the man who al- 
ways parked next to us in the school park- 

( continued) 


A New Beginning , continued 

ing lot" is dead! An accident at work,, nessi All the uncaring, self-indulgent 

Shock gripe me„ Suddenly seized from people who survive and this nan has gone 
life while at worko Seized from life just to dust. 

as things were getting better I Never to 
see his son's accomplishments., Never to 
see another spring or summer* Surviving 
the tough times just to be plucked from 
life when things get better., The unfair- 

Then suddenly my seven-year-old son' 
words break through my cognition — "And 
Mom, they said he was being planted today 
At first, the terminology startles me , „ 
then it hits me. 

The jroung are closer to the Truth 
than I, 


Judy Belfield 


Three little boys walk their bicycles across a busy street, 
smiling as they dodge traffic 
and magnificently large puddles. 
At the other side, 

they park their bikes 
and recross the street — 

only this time they don't miss the puddles. 
The boys are black 

but the shades are distinct: 

one boy, like chocolate milk — 
chalkysmooth and creamyskinned — 
the second almost blue, 
and the other like Kraft dark caramel. 
Their beatup sneakers and those of a thousand other boys , 
spring on the pavement, 
attesting to the fact 

that kids run faster and jump higher 
in any brand of shoe. 
Their spry legs 

covered in denim 
flex, become taut, 
flex again, 
as they dart 

from here to there. 
In the summertime, 

after a crazy rain, 

the little boys come out to play 

in clusters throughout the city, 

and the streets echo silently with an endless stream of schemes 
what to do with water 1 


R, Walser Yale 


Left to the tender mex-cies 
Of the shrewd catamount, 
The upright species — 
(Not counting the savant) 
Fled their carbonized citie; 

The wildcats legions — 
Pliant, lunatic trolls 
Shadowed the masses 
Of T/oepiog, worried fools 

And drove them into seared hills, 
Hundreds of miles they roamed 
Where clannish insanity kills 
The herds with no home. 

Triumphantly, the intoxicated 
Unhinged trolls 
(And their unfortunate slaves) 
Turn back to the ancestral 
City of Ashes 



The Fete of the Lynx, continued 

Orange skeletons, the slag frames 

Of tremulous structures 

Still stand — unchanged 

But the mortar turned cinders 

Has dropped the brick into great mounds, 

Yet, the cat's decrepit throne 
Is far from dead; 

He had memorized 
The circuit -~ 
He had stalked these 
Streets before,, 

When his foreign forcec 
Made war 
With the natives — 

Buried in the embers and under 

The stone, crustaceous creatures thrive 

Mute, strong, heavily armoredo 

The ancient crawlers still live,. 

In the noxious darkness, 

Retarded dogs noc.n and howl 

Now out seep the vermin — - wicked ratsi 

Starving adders - without a sound 

Hunt their prey 

Through the winding streets 

And across the river, a standing red 

Pool of caustic ooze, 

Live the learned ones — 

The instinctive, absurd dregs 

In the black night, 
The surreptitious creatures 
Elude the cat's keen eyes, 
Desperately seeking the snakes 
Nocturnal meat» 

At the end of the night, 

Signaled by a brownish 

Grey dawn° 

The dregs retire 

To their dwellings of stone„ 

Some, bellies full, dance 
In the street" 
Antagonising bands 
Of the feline's enforcers — 
The damned trolls! 

Aimless battles rage 
In the street 
Until both forces spent, 
Aimlessly retreat. 

Now all is silent 
Nothing stirs i 
How complete 
The sins iter 
Infinite silence 

The catamount descends 

The upright, rational 


Is presento 

He is an oracle, 

A Spartan,. 

He is in£ , raving 1 , 


When the clamorous 

And dogmatic 


Saw catacysmic 


And drove the chagrinod> 

Bloodied columns 

And fugitive kin 

To the defeated hills» 

He greedily 


The s laugh ter„ 

The beast returns 

To his throne — 

Smug s sated 

And makes a gesture 

To the head troll: 

"Have the dead cremated,," 

Off the sulphuric banks 

Of the river 

A squadron of dregs and trolls 

Comrades ~~ bloody and rank 

Tumble and roll* 

Alone in subterranean 


The lynx sleeps,, 

Lurid annals 
Of extortionate men 
Unfold in his deranged, 
Semi-conscious brain° 

Awakened by a hideous 

Scream — 

He bounds to a mirror 

And falls 

Into crystalline jade eyes<> 

Crushed, he slides 
Down the wall 
To begin 
The vigil 

Until the abject, 
Venomous troll , 
The cold blooded 
Molested dreg, 
And the electrified, 
Homesick clans 
Unite o 

With a cool 
Animated ease, 
He prowls 
The exploded city. 



David 1-bore 


January 23, 2010 o That was the day 
They announced that God had diedo I re- 
member that moment wello It was one of 
those rare periods in Our glorious history 
when a vicious blizzard had all but shut 
down the operation of the technological 
wonderland. It was noon, but the sky was 
dark gray, even darker than the uniform 
towers of the City. And the wind and 
snow whipped savagely at any mortal who 
dared expose Himself,, 

Ac I left that cemetery of ideals, I 
couldn't help but think that God would 
never have died if Our soul- weren't 
in a terminal state- Our could should 
be finely tuned instruments equipped 
with sophisticated abstract cense •-. 
Their nature is to be seekers j looking 
for permanent happiness . And they need 
freedom to search,, But even under good 
conditions, most happiness is temporary . 
And we hardly live in a proper environ- 

°o> naturally, like most of My fellow ment. For all intents and purposes, Our 

citizens, I was in My cubicle apartment 
watching the Neworeview on My telescreen* 
I was^ wrapped in a thick blanket, 13"ing 
upon I*y couch, and feeling My age. There 
was another power shortage that winter, 
and ^ My quarters were rather chilly, I 
hel^ .My cat Wilhelm securely in My arms 
He was perfectly content to have His back 
scratched, I could tell, he was purring D 
So content with so little. But then, I 
was content with My telescreen and cozy 
position too. 

And that was when They announced that 
God was dead* After that bombshell was 
dropped, the reporter gave some brief 
biographical information,, The trouble was 
that Nobody remembered the deceased's 
birthdate, or how He got His st"rt. But 
then, No J ody had been very close to Him, 
'Ithough many had claimed to be, God 
never was one to make friends easily. He 
was just too intimidating. People were 
afraid of Him, afraid to question Him. 
But God can hardly be blamed for human 

goals have become based on Our confusing- 
ly complex economic system. And that ic 
not a proper environment for a healthy 
soul to be functioning in. No indeed, 
it is a very cramped, narrow, and cor- 
rupting world. And it is jam-packed with 
cramped, narrow, and corrupting competi- 
tion. All goals have become material, 
or infected by materialism. So coulc have 
become vestigial handicaps. Ac with all 
institutions, the economic system has 
deteriorated. It has become a vicious 
trap. And it is the unchallanged para- 
gon of all our institutions. It is Our 
reality. A reality that is almost com- 
pletely impossible to escape. 

Oh yes, religion gives some relief. 
I admit that. Its simple answers to com- 
plex problems are indeed the salvation 
for many individuals. But it can't work 
for all of Us, You see, it demands a 
person to suppress aspects of his or her 
inner nature just as the economic djg- 
tem does. We must become devout, or 

weakness. It wasn't like He'd ever really even fanatical. We must hide behind veilc 

ried to freak people out, 

I was sorry to hear about His death. 
I eally was. We had never been able to 
relate to each other, I admito But in 
my younger days, I'd often wandered 
through the tiny forest preserves, and I 
had admired His work c He had been a fan- 
tastically intricate artist, and massive- 
ly productive too. But I never could de- 
velop a sense of kinship with Him,, His 
groupies had always turned me off, 

I was invited to the funeral , of 
course. After all, I had once been fa- 
mous. So I put. on my galoshes and parka 
and off I went. Naturally, They had to 
make the whole thing an extravagant mock- 
ery of dignity. There were thousands of 
mourners. Most of them were like Me, 
has-beens who'd been cast aside by the 
advances of Our society. And We were 
treated like a herd of mindless cattle. 
We milled around the vast tomb as those 
in power hcg ged all the publicity. It 
was c bitterly cold day, too. I never 
would have gone if I'd had the right to 
refuse. Even thoig h I've always believed 
funerals to be a rip-off, that doesn't 
mean they should be amv&xrL-esd *«*■«-> a <zir- 
cns„ -Especially a -obf!«sL-tess one. 

of original sin, basic evil, falling 
short of divine expectations. Can't We 
understand that We are primates with 
souls? But no, thoce who seek knowledge 
must choose between science and religion. 
They lose something either way. Science 
has no soul. The universe slowl}*- grows 
vaster, We seem to become more aware of 
its mechanical nature. Yet it alco be- 
comes mere threatening. Hot/ can one per- 
son's life and happiness matter when con- 
fronted by infinity? So we turn to re- 
ligion. It makes us special, it makes 
Us God's children. We have a place in 
the scheme of things after all. But re- 
ligion lacks tolerance of human nature 
when you get right down to it. . What 
is called sin and weakness is merely part 
of Our nature. And religion can make a 
person into a cheerful robot, spouting 
the same doctrines over and over and over 
again. Oh yes, We could use a god. But 
We need a god who is a friend, not a mas- 
ter. We don' t need to accept a god. But 
We need a god who accepts Us. 

Scient-e denies the soul. Religion 
don-'<"-' t-ha pfimate. And ia&tex~i.i3li.sjm—de~ 

r.i-'LX& alio 

Look at Us I We're vanning around 6ur 



nihilistic Hew Yecx, continued - o 

collective existence trying to find some- I ccn't think of e.ny more w orth Drying, 
thing o And when We're frustrated, He be- 

come oo insecure that We have to look foi 
ways to oppress others to prove Cur own 


We ell do it, no matter 

what path We follow. We r.ll look dox/n on 
someone or something. We all do! 3ven I 
do ; and I'm an artist end amateur philoeo- 
pher, I just use different standards. 
And it's all because We have failed to re= 
concile the primate with its soul, Our 
social programming with ^ur abstractions c 
At least 5 that's My subjective opiniono 

But this is hardly meant to be a ser- 
mon. It's just that the death of GoC. had 
its effect on Me. I apologise, 

I made my way home from the funeral. 
Maybe it was such a fiasco because it 
■was a rush job. They didn't even allow 
Themselves time to clear the streets of 
the snow from that bliczard. But I guess 
I see the point. They could hardly leave 
God's bod}? lying around, Spiritual 
stench, you knbw«j 

Af ter L '-:j dinner that evening 


cided to paint a picture, Sometimes I 
wonder why They even let Me paint, My 
style Of art is hardly popular a^rmore. 
And anything that doesn't sensitise the 
masses, helping Them forget "heir dilemma 
is frowned upon as a useless habit* In 
My youth, it was called Modern Art, Mow 



bit of historical trivia, 

or colors 
aren't cl 

And I painted and spread broad Kwirls 
I formed an order!}? chaos that 

Oh ves- I made it blend 

ever sc nicely, I lost Myself in My cre- 




.rug, I never nee I 

those barbiturates handed out to the poor 
by Their welfare programs. 

And Wilhelm came over to Me and rub- 
bed against My leg. It was his suppertime. 
He's always most affectionate when he 
wants some "tiling. And I had to stop cre- 
ating. It was good to know that My pet 
needed Me, but it was distracting. 

As I went to f in d the cat food, I 
noticed that it was snowing again. And 
I felt tired. It had been a hard day, 
I'm getting old. So please excuse Me if 

i* sense of dogmatic gloom 

Has seeped into the darkness of 

clockwork shadows 
Infiltrating to the core of heresy 
Upsetting literal constants that 

have no basis 
In a malevolently malleable cosmor 

that secretly worships 
Chaos and its cousin 
The stage is not set 
But the curtains of predestination 

are rising 
Pulled up by withered and ancient 


Multi-eyed blobs raise their shape- 
less heads high to limbo 

The mud castles melt in the laughing 

God is dead and rotting 

His body is the universe 

Philosophical maggots have infected 
the corpse 

The stars grow brief!}'' brighter 

Then burn out until the next celes- 
tial pyre is constructed 

Ilihili sm stalks the ruins of 
Economic a 

The shadows gibber mindlessly at 

Robg-its must under layers of corro- 
sive fungus 

llothing is green 

Ilothing is red 

llothing is 

The audience applauds- loudlx? - , 

t: rf* V* r» *•**•**•*** , 

Melissa Wessell 

The Devil is 


Goodbye, Devil, 

we sail on beyond 

your afternoon reach now, 

sail on past the 

tops of your 

wincing arms, ascending. 

Goodbye, Old Man, 


David Moore 


By all the gods who ever roamed the backyards of liinbo-i 
The cosmos itself has been cracked 
Its life-blood dripping from celestial horizons 

And look out in the anonymous farm-yard 

It is Hikal, ruler of the empty lands within 
A £&cusl&o& dBacra~*k±r\°, rrpr&ndias yasZ wings of membrane 



Holy Hokuci, continued 

Oh green and furry abyss dweller 

Lacking visage save for the aura of blood-red eyes 
That watch as the galactic juices gush down in profusion 
Chox/ering the rainbow dog 

Dissolving it in an Alka-Seltzer fizzle 
And absorbed by the dry and thirsty ground 

Hikal' watches neutrally, ever the observer 
He who never participates 

He who grows through knowing, not action 

Out of the farmhouse there rushes a warrior-born 
Fortified by golden plate-mail 

Two-handed battle-ax raised high over featureless 
It is stained by the yelloxnLsh blood of insectoids 
The knight charges the Lord of Apathy 

Hikal, master of many forms, all irrelevant 
The veteran weapon is buried deep 

Deep into the core of madness 
Cutting through the outer defenses, into the beyond 
That inner fiber which is at one with the universe 
It spews out as a metamorphic waterfall 
And is absorbed by the dry and thirsty voido 

Linda IC Horras 

It is like a speckled plain — an endless plain? 

looming magnificently in front of my glassed view; 
Maybe a house this time or a steeple the next to dot the 

rolling land, 
Or maybe it's the endless rows of husked soldiers, 

all bobbing in a mock salute: "Come join usi 

Come join usi" 
3ut I can't hear, the glass only yielding to the c onstant 

chug, chug, chugo 

Moving now, n y picture changes, 

greenery sur-rounds the pane; 
Like a thick yarn the huge trees are embroidered on ray 

somewhat fixed image; 
All I knoxj is x^hat I see from out my moving screen » o <» 

And the undaunted chug, chug, chugo 

Tov/n by toxm or valley by valley, 
the scene remains the same; 

Still following the path of iron to a destinjr much like these 
a plain, a tree, a cornfield, a hou«e -, 
and to silence the xtfeary chug, chug , chugo 

Adriane Say lor 


With one leg always free, 
he inches along the filament road; 
Never falling, but rooted in a creation 
of dazzle and spangled splendor » 
He creeps along " is territory, 
spitting the future out into the light; 
He watches through the lines of glory, 
the crazy &xztr& of dqym and ih& mad pux-pljs 
.,- e „ / 7 y ,i ?ri_ a *"- e " , %ti- th^f i.vrJ,L 


The Spider 

,And I, continued 

He sees the dip and swagger of butterfly 

and noth and ant and wasp„ 

All those wings, those glass, glittering 

panes to be seen through* 

All those creatures caught in one moment, 

by straying too close to the naked beauty 

of his silk; 

Those ones the wind will not take back. 

In such a moment I fell into the silver 

between the silent darkness of your hair and 

everything fe^l away to nothing*. 

And by the time you n ticed me in your web, 

I was already a goner „ «, » 


Adriane Saylor 


Hours eat into the mind, 

erasing what has gone before, 

night blots up memories and they are nothing 

Tou c h that has fevered into flame, 

now fans down, like the coals of a 

Summer bonfire 

Words bounce off the silence and 

dance with my fears all around the room, 

I am blackened to an ash, as 

the night burns itself to the end,, 

And where are you, 

and what silence is this that 

my heart now knows? 

It is certainly not peace, 

although there is that supposition too; 

Dreams, and their sisters, 

wishes keep me company in the thin 

pane between madness and resolution,, 

And in the end, your darkness is all I have 

the one line of hope in my confusion,, 

It is love and I will not give it up, 

nor will I be saved by a promised visit 

on the shore of sleep „ s „ 

J» D„ Guse 


I sit within a stable room 

staring at the uncontrollable nature 

and how beautiful she looks today,, 

The wind makes the ripples go 

and the ripples make the river flow,, 

The water looks like a sequined dress 

as Mr Sun makes his debut„ 

fCTCfftwC *\ <\ *\ rf> 

Cathie Durkee 


I hate to see the shimerald grass 
Turn murkioh yellow in fall 
To see ten foot of partly cloudy 
Along the blankest highway 

I dislike any season 

But the springiest summer 

And think naught of reddish gold leave* 

As they messy up the forest 

I don't care for smoldering haziness 
Of their burning in a pile 
Hor of heavy gray clouds 
Dumping their heaviness on me 

The beauty of flowerama 

In a marriage of color 

I am deeply in love with chlorophyll 

Life's illustion stuck 
Danky, swamp prevails 
Nothingness and fog 

Relationships , frosty 

A cold windox; pane 

Blistery winds across the prairie 

What is this coldness 

This stuck place 

The emptiness upon ray soul 

7v 1C *\ >w\>» ~i\ <\ 




Black, dark with yellow slit-eyes, 

Cunning self-sufficient rodent-bite 

Touching the invisible question world. 

Inferior dislike., point, sharp, tear, shred. 

Liquid style superiority with sleek grace, 

Noiseless j precision motion none can compare 

Digging red warmth for nothing. 

Zero prodigality, all proficient leadership 

Knows its silent place* 

Solid immovable prediction,, 

Hiss, spit with hatred, damned to survive eternity 

In an alien universe,, 

Forced to the height of beast by foreign suicidal 

Primate masters* 

Altered tangibility to assume lower life, 

Impris ned forever by God's evolution. 

You can't play a piano with an ice pick* 

A painful crying univoice tells secrets, but doesn't 

Speak them. 

The centuries show us different similarity,, 

Mystery preys unfinished, infinitely doomed from its 


Earth knows not this FELTNUS SAPIEN. 


Sharon Odehnal 



Sing to the trees and the skies and the birds 
And you'll find they will sing back to you B 
Sing with your heart and soul, and not words — 
Sing, sing, sing, and the world will be new. 

Just as I see the horizon ahead 
A rainbow beginning to form, 
My eyes are held to a cloud instead 
And I ami lost in a storm. 

Laugh with the winds and the grass, and the 

Oh, laugh with Mister sun in the sky, 
Laugh with yourself and stop all the showers - 
Laugh, laugh, laugh, till you cry. 

Run with the clouds and the days, and the deer. 
Yes, run free to your rainbow's end. 
Run to your Master and sing without fear — 
Run, run, run, to your friend. 


J. Aschenbrenner 


It's raining 

outside my window. 

The drops 

splatter against the glass Q 

Falling gently 

holding hands 

en they meander doxm the pane, 


It seems that life is Illusion- 
A mirage around every bend, 
When I wonder will storms be stilled? 
Perhaps when my words are penned. 

The thunder rolls and wind blows 
I'm sure I'll hard. 
I'm sure I'll crash on the rock 
With nothing left except a shard 
Of my mind, the weathercock. 

Then I'm caught by the sun once more 
And its light allows me to see, 
That I can stand upon any shore 
And be what I want to be. 


Adriane Saylor 


Gray shoots down its bullets 

to wet the earth; 

Slicks up the street and spangles 

the window %-rLtJi sudden brilliance-. 



3 torn, continued 

The treec are royalty, in the diamonds 

from the sky; 

Their backs nearly break as the wind 

pushes against their green- f rocked bodies. 

And in the space of seconds , 

the world is a torn curtain, waving back and forth 

between the fury of nature's temper tantrum. 

It is momentary, this beating of trees 

and berating the buildings with- gusts *f fury,- 

It is like love, 

this all-day storm. thi3 riot of the sky. 

A grey, large, consuming something, 

that will not be pushed away, until, like love 

it has wet and soaked through every pore exposed. 

Only then will the clouds part for sun to show 

itself in splendor once again. . . 


Ernest McCabe 


As I sit here on the bare boards of °f Datsun submarines. Although I suppose 

this bench, I feel the \7ind telegraphing the Japanese some day will get into su 1 -- 

chilly messages to my nervous system. My raarina building. They seem to be manu- 

mind is set in neutral, ready to go, but facturing everything else. Aside from 

still waiting for some unknown conveyance that, the problem with sending a sub 

to arrive, I put it in gear end start would be enormous, since most of the tonsile 

thumbing through the possibilities, steel in a submarine would not be strong 

There are a few things I know it enough to move through the grass beds and 

could not be. In all probability, it roll over the wavelike trees with their 

could not be a kite, since a kite would crisp green froth. No, a sub would not 

not be powerful enough to get me off this work, even if they had one at their dis- 

hard hard ground. It could not be a bird, posal, 

since I know of no bird capable of lift- I suppose I should not feel as I do 

ing a six-foot tall, one-hundred-ninety with all of the subterfuge and disgust 

pound payload. that i3 howling violently in my belly 

The vehicle could conceivably be a and the bitter taste that is buttering 

blimp, although, since the crash of the my lips with oil of grasshopper breath, 

Hindenburg, that fashion of travel has I notice a couple of garbage turkey 

gone up in smoke. It is occasionally re- trucks and think, not even they could 

viewed for certain American festivals in be so cruel as to send those vulturous 

which groups of men gather to see which creatures to pick me up with their slimy 

one can more effectively beat out the refuse packed fingers. A fork lift? No, 

brains of the other, I must rule out not enough range. Although it would be 

this possibility, however, since these slow enough. God does not recharge 

gatherings are usually held in fall or fork lifts on request, 
the dead of winter, 

I am pretty well cettain that it is 
not a submarine, since I have not heard 

J. D. Guse 


However many times I admit "love is hungry cries for the not-oo-famout — jn 
■Lree and pure, and can never be harmed occasion, warped — Guse reply, 

by any outside additives," I must also Yes, folks, Uncle Samuel has done it 

realiae that somex/here along the line, the again. I have not found any authentic 
government proposed the rn£&mciu.& usvirritrtaa written, documents 4:onc<2i-nin£ hovr the go- 
bill called "The loveTarc" One may rak vernmsnt intervenes in one 1 a most pri- 
hovr- could, -anyone teas; lr>ve? I heal - your vafc«* effalrs, but I am forced to admit 



Governmental Love, continued 

that my phone bill was of an exceedingly 
large amount due to intimate, sometimes 
perverse, conversations held on the talk- 
ing bo;;. Hot that I, of all people, would 
complain, but obviously our number one 
obsession in life — to find a full-time 
companion -- is being destroyed because 
people are just too concerned about where 
their money goes In other words, Mr, G„ 
(as in Government and Green) says, "We 
can make a bundle if we tax love and mar- 
riage and things like that," 

Oh boy, I let another one out of the 
bag — marriage. Just about everyone I 
know who is married has some complaint 
about feeding the extra mouth in the 
house on April 15, Let's face it, the 
government intervenes in just about every- 
thing else, why shouldn't they get some 
part of the relationship too? OK, so now 
we've hit upon another subject — dates. 
Let me set the scene,, You schedule a date, 
over the phone of course (Federal Communi- 
cations Tax), then you drive to the girl's 
house, if you are a .male* And of course 
you are using gas , which not only costs 
money, but has a Federal Tax to booto If 
by chance a movie is on the agenda, you 
are in luck — movies are not taxed. How- 
ever, you do pay an upper and lower ex- 
tremity (arm and a leg) just to gain en- 
trance to the most prestigious cinema 
house in the city. And of course, you 

see such classics as Jaws III, People 
and Pgbble Doe s Dal las. And of course, 
after the show, your date has this immen- 
se craving for an authentic German meal - • 
thick-crust pizza xzith a raw egg in the 
center (a four seasons pizza) , One must 
not forget that no matter how bad the meal 
is , one must pay a tax for it and for the 
inevitable indigestion,. Oh, yes — a 
complete date can not conclude until the 
drinks have been served, in the back seat 
of a car of course,, Gotcha again* You 
buy the booze, you pay the tax. 

So you see, love is a three-way 
street: you, your date, and Uncle Sam- 
uel,, However, the opportunity exists for 
excluding the Money Man from your love 

First of all, you could die (No 
tax for death „ ) 

-Second, in reference to phone calls, 
one may call from a pay phone to a loved 
one at another pay phone, Keep in mind, 
however, that someone must reverse the 
charges on the phone call. And by all 
means, don't pick up the receiver when the 
operator calls back to get your name. 

Thirdly, take your date on a bicycle 

Fourthly, become a Ewe 11 Gibbons fan, 
(Eat wild hickory nuts„ ^ 

And lastly, remember, God made grass* 
man made booze Who do you trust? 

Judy Bel fie Id 


Don't complain to me about the economy -?- 

I got troubles of my own 
I don't wanna hear about the fiscal year 
or deficit spending 
or cuts unending , 

except for defending = 
Inflation's just a new sensation 
that's getting rather old — 
older than the gold in Fort Knox, 
which is kept under locks 
and fluctuates by the hour — 

an unseen, possibly nonexistent, pot/er-conf erring entity 
that lacks nobility and class,, 
Economy talk i3 a pain in the ass, 
as passe as primal scream 

and ESP and Gestalt, and dream interpretation. 
It's as old as the hills, 

and as boring as that last phrase 
no matter what the phase: 
the upward swing, 

the familiar ring of the downward trend, 
money on the mend, 
or the rapid decline, 
I decline to take an interest in conversations about interest 

or deflation measures 
or financial pressures. 
Tell me of sunshine and stars, 
for I cm a Scarlett O'Hara 
who doesn't cara 


- ,?- 

Don't Complain To Me About The Economy , continued 

for all this "talk, talk, talk of war I" 
Recession, depression — 

all this talk of money „ 
I don't give a damn. 

The ivy grows on empty halls 
The switchboard' s quiet — no more calls 
The building creaks and moans its loss 
We lost it all to weeds and moss 

The rustling of our steno's skirts 
The fluttered lashes when she flirts 
Are all behind us now we rue 
The pains we gave "the chosen few" 

This plant was once alive with work 
We made come wealth when it would perk 
But now the footsteps that we hear 
Are old men passing to be near „ , „ 

Charles Hinton 


They look upon the bricks of red 
And shuffle on with nodding head 

"Alas, we could have saved it when 
We took a break as long as ten , . ." 

We n'er showed up except "on call" 

We took a bundle from it all 

We've killed the goose that laid our eggs 

So now we pass on idle legs 

A muddy pond our tear drops make 

A sad true lesson for our sake , . , 

David Ibore 

Hey there I How ya doing? I don't 
know if there's anyone else still alive 
out there in the whole wide and wonder- 
ful worldo But feel free to stop by some- 
time, I'm here in Arizona, in the middle 
of the world-famous Petrified Forest, sit- 
tin' on a 200-million year old tree stump, 
I guess it's just as much a living thing 
as any other tree now. And this desert 
is a f rr adise, compared to those radio- 
active wastelands I came from., It seems 
so fresh and cool, even though it's high 
noon in July, I've even seen a few other 
living things since I got here. The trou- 
ble is, I ain't sure why I came here, I 
don't remember very much at all anymore, 
I think I was looking for someone I once 
knew, but I don't know who. Goddamn it, 
I can't even figure out my own name. 
Where was I? Oh yeah, out in the desert., 
I'm probably the last person alive, at 
least in this country,, Won't be for long, 
though. Just about had it. Jesus, all 
those people are dead. Everybody except 
me. Everybody! Guess fate made a good 
choice., I'm pretty sure I was one of 
those types who had nothing to live for c 
And that's all that's left — nothing. 
Wait a minutei Over on that stone log I 
It's some sort of lizardo You know, I 
really like these old rock trees, all 
their weird color schemes appeal to me„ 
This lizard, the species looks familiar* 

I used to know my reptiles fairly well. 
I didn't know much about humane ,. but I 
could tell a horned toad from an Ameri- 
can chameleon,, The little critter ic 
looking at me kinda funny. His heed is 
sort of turned up, and he's got one eye 
on me, I guess he didn't expect to find 
any of my kind left. How do I know it's 
a "he"? I don't. He's probably wonder- 
ing how long it's gonna take me to die. 
Then his kind can take over the world 
again, get a second chance. Wish I had 
a second chance now. Wish I'd been 
able to do something with my life. Won- 
der if there's a Heaven and Hell, Guess 
I'll be findin' out soon. Can't stand 
that lizard gawking at me. Go on, beat 
it> Let me die in peace, you little 
bastard. You guys have been waiting all 
these millenia for us to snuff our- 
selves out, you can wait a few more min- 
utes. God, I'm sick. My skin's cAl grey 
and it's been peeling off in acres. And 
i ain't been able to eat anything in days c 
It comes right back up quicker than it 
takes to go down. And i just ran outta 
water, i'm either numb or in agony, 
don't know if anjrbody else is cut there 
or if you even care but i care r.bout you 
juctcauseyou're anothergod- for oaken per- 
son in a man-madehell you neverw anted 
but if youwere one ofthe scumwho pushed 
the button i forgiveyou what else can i 

fcL.^....' -..*.«.' *•>'**-* ....'- 

Judy Belfield 


Rattatat , 

the sounds of independence, 
go much like mini-wars at every corner 
after the sun went down on Thursday, 

continuing until Monday night — 
it was a long weekend* 
Church spires black 

against a pinkfluff sky, 
the Methodist church sign 
announces the Sunday sermonsubject: 
Freedom From Fear — 

Freedom's just another word for , * ° 
Well, folks, 

wave those flags as the drums roll 
and the marching girls in short skirts 

do their stickylegged routines in the humid head, 
and the fireworks look like powderpu-fs 
that fizzle and sizzle 
end blow off hands 
and we hear about every fifth of July — 

the tragedies ~- 
and we're as free as we're ever gonna be, 
which is not free at all 
or free at last a 
Yet we hP G r a blast from the past ~~ 
a rocketshooting red glare 
of gory independence 

gained by the blood of fathPrs' fathers 
all the way back through an infinitymaze of deaths, 
and we're proud to be Americans ■ — 
love it or leave it, 
our country right or wrong* 
The churchbellc ring out 

New freedom is a sanitary pad 
also stained with, 
you guessed it* 
Where does it end 

and where did it begin? 
What day is it now? 

It was a long week end „ 

»*-...'-»«.'.* «.'.-«.'. ■■,'.*» *-. «.'.- 
7* rfV rfV *V rfV H *WV 

Mary Davis son 

J oliet's finest newspaper — its . only one too, 

nly way round to find out who's who„ 

L ivin pages — macaroni recipes you can trust, 

1 rish sports page* — information on who's gone to dust a 
E xciting tidbits in News in Brief, 

T hird page coverage of the world's grief o 

H oroscopes to help you plan romance , travel and luck, 

E xtra coupons on Wednesdays help you stretch your buck, 

R ealty, cars, assorted ads for the elite, 

A ssociated Press reports on the Washington beat, 

L ocal politicians x/ith their axes to grind, 

D ear Abby — sad letters often left unsigned,, 

N ews of the births, marriages and weather reports, 

E yewitness accounts of all the local sports, 

W hiteside's column is a bright spot, and yet, 

-^ erves itr> best pui-pose xrheii housebreaking your pet a 

^Obituary column 




Marge Peterson 


Ten years ago, Nells had graduated 
fron the Art Academy. Arned with youth- 
ful enthusiasm and confidence, he looked 
forward to a bright future as an artist. 
His exceptional record at art school had 
le- him to believe that the world would be 
as excited about his work as his instruc- 
tors had been c He had returned to the 
northern town where many happy summers 
had been spent in painting, and, in the 
evenings, waiting tables to pay for each 
coming school year 

The town was a summer place, wh^-a 
the rich and not-so-rich came from all 
over the country to spend their vacations 
on sunny lake beaches and in fashionable 
restaurants, and their money on arts and 
crafts that filled the rustic shops lining 
the quaint streets. It seemed a perfect 
place for a beginning artist to sell his 
paintings with the hope of becoming 
known o 

He had built a rough, but sturdy, 
structure five miles from toxm, accessible 
by an adequate dirt road, which was to 
serve as home and studio . It was surround- 
ed on three sides by white birch and pine, 
and on the fourth side was a field of 
wild flowers which sloped downward to a 
lake He had been very pleased with the 
set-up and settled in to work. 

Nells loved his work, spending long 
hours painting the beauty he saw in the 
dunes, the town, and the forest around 
him, returning to his studio as the day- 
light failed, to continue painting from 
mental images and sketches he had collect- 
ed. Often he would forget to rest until 
the clamor of the birds c°lebrating sun- 
rise would interrupt his concentration, 
reminding him of the passage of time and 
his own fatigue 

A small gallery, in town had agreed 
to display and sell his paintings, taking 
a percentage of each sale for themselves 
Nells' paintings were hung on long walls 
with the work of many other "rtists. Oc- 
casionally, there was a sale, but the pub- 
lic seemed to chow no preference for 
Nells' work, and he was finding the in- 
come insufficient to support himself, al- 
though his needs were quite basic. Hunger 
began to take its toll, affecting his en" ' 
ergy and ability to concentrate Dreams 
are hard to give up, however, and each 
day Nells told himself that coon sales 
would pick up, that people would soon re- 
alize the qpecial qualities of his work. 

Bells ring. Open eyes gorge, sar- 
dine motion with smells of lunch box 
bananas , dragging out to see 3etsy Ross 
before a giant cube» Bells ring and time 
goes slow, brain space filled with choco- 
late milk j dates of numberfacts, instruc- 
tor personality is of major influence. 
We are all shaped different but we must 
conform,. Belle ring, essential nutri- 
tion c Bells ring, tough drain on hard 
flattop elbows j big downward fall with 
ridicule, great flying rubber loops 
stinging or sphere expectorant wood pulp 
sailing complete with ruler wrist, more 
space is satisfied. Bells ring, sprint 
out sardine motion of perspiration re- 
locking to origination, Btit to get a 
good job you can't be a square peg. 

One spring day, he moved hie easel 
to a spot down by the lake. He hoped the 
reawakening of the world around him 
would renew his spirit, giving him the 
energy to continue. The soft, warm 
breeze ruffled his hair. Sunbeams dap- 
pled the new growth around him while the 
scent of fresh spring flowers filled his 
censes. He looked across the lake, men- 
tally framing a section of the view he 
wanted to interpret into paint, A 
brushed-in sketch slowly appeared, but 
soon he began to feel distracted, his 
concentration eluding him even as he 
fought to maintain it. Putting his hands 

on his hips, he looked away, heaving 
a deep breath full of frustration. 

Not far away, a wide slanting beam 
of sunlight slid down through the dark 

foliage of an evergreen grove, A vi- 
brant spot of color floated in its 

midst, catching Nellc' eye. As it 
passed through the sunbeam and moved on 
toward Nells, he noted that it appeared 
to be a butterfly of great size with 
glowing rich colors like a stained 
glass window. He held out his hand and 
was amazed when it lit there, lie had 
failed to notice that the body of the 
butterfly was not the usual worm-like 
form, but was actually a tiny, perfect- 
ly formed man. He jumped slightly when 
hi3 eyes rested on the figure, causing 
the butterfly to have to flutter slight- 
ly to keep from losing its footing. The 
little man laughed melodiously. 

"What are youi" asked Nells, incre- 

"I am called Seth, and am of the 
tribe Boheim," laughed the butterfly. 
"Do I c tar tie you?" 

"Will you hurt me?" asked Nellc. 

"Do I look like I could hurt you?" 



Hells, continued 

asked Seth, "I live in the glen at the 
other end of the lake," Seth continued, 
"juct beyond the Impossible Thicket, the 
one you have tried several times to get 
through, Hy whole tribe lives there e We 
create things," 

"What things?" asked Nells* 
"Oh, golden goblets set with jex/els, 
paintings of charm, mystical fabrics, to 
name a few. Tonight we celebrate spring 
and many of our treasures will be on view c 
Would you like to see? You are welcome to 
join our festivities,, I will be back for 
you at nine," 

With that, Seth leaped from Wells' 
arm and disappeared in the leaves above, 
never giving Nells a chan c 3 to answer,, 

"Hey, waiti" said Nells, staring up 
after him and twisting around with hopes 
of sp°tting him again, but Seth was gone. 
Later that evening, Nells sat on his 
back steps listening to the birds singing 
their evening songs and watching the be- 
ginning of the sunset behind the lake, 

Nells jumped as a voice beside him 
said, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Seth 
was seated on the rail beside him, knees 
up and c hin in his hands , as if he had 
been there for quite a while, 

"You didn't expect to see me again, 
did you?" asked Seth e "Are you coming to 
our party?" 

Seth -^d been righto Nells hadn't 
really expected to see him again. He had 
even been wondering if ^ x .s imagination had 
been playing tricks on him. After all, a 
tiny man with butter r ly wings wasn't some- 
thing one expected to see, Nells - G lt 
very restless tonight and really didn't 
know what to do with himself. At a party, 
at least he could pet something to eat, 
and if the rest or the tribe looked like 
Seth, it would certainly be something to 

"Sure," said Nells, "let's go," 
Seth immediately leaped forward in 
the air and floated off gently with Nells 
following. As they approached the Impos- 
sible Thicket, the shrubbery parted and 
they stepped through into a glen full of 
motion. The air was full of Boheims like 
Seth, Some were hanging tiny Tiffany 
lamps on gossamer string across the glen. 
Others hung crystal windchines on the 
tree-branch tips that tinkled softly in 
the breeze. On the ground, figures like 
Seth scurried to and fro with trays of 
food and jeweled goblets of wine, A large 
group of Boheims flew across toward Nells 
and Seth bearing a huge golden goblet 
and a tray of food. They placed it on a 
mossy knoll by a tree for Nells, 

"Please sit here," said Seth, "relax 
and enjoy your evening, I must join my 

Seth seated himself at the head of a 
long caken table. Motion ceased immediate- 
ly as all became seated, Seth raised his 
5'oblet, All the Boheims stood and raised 
their gobletn in the air saying in unison: 

"Here's to the sun's burning glow 
of gold, 
Here's to the moon, ®oth new 

and old, 
Here's to the past, present, and 

to come , 
And here's to the magic in everyone, 1 

With that, they all drank deeply, 
then seating themselves, began to de- 
vour the feast before them, Nells, >o, 
drank deeply and partook of the much 
needed cust|,. aa nce with great pleasure. 
The food seemed unlimited. No -sooner had 
one serving platter been emptied when it 
was replaced by another. 

As the sun completed its sunset, a 
beautiful music began to play. All the 
tables and chairs disappeared in haste 
and the tiny people began to dance, some 
on the ground, and some in the air, 
Nells leaned back against a tree to watch 
the spectacle. Another goblet of fine 
wine was placed in his hand. Slowly, a 
large silvery moon rose and hung straight 
above, as if it had been commissioned to 
shine just so to illuminate this glen of 
wonder. The Boheims sparkled and glit- 
tered as if they had a light within. 
Sometime during the festivities, Nells 
fell into a deep sleep and rested more 
completely than ever before. The Bo- 
heims covered him with a fine blanket, so 
light it could hardly be felt, but so 
warm it was all anyone would ever need. 

In the morning, he awoke with the 
clear rays of sun on his eyelids and a 
basket of leftovers by his side, Nells 
stood up and stretched. There was nothing 
left of the night's festivities — • it 

looked like any other glen, Nells 
tossed the blanket in the basket and 
headed back home, stepping through the 
Impossible Thicket wh e re it parted for 

Upon reaching home, Nells ate from 
the basket and prepared to work. He 
felt better than he had in ages, refreshed 
with no nagging hunger pains, /.s ,he 
painted, he found his ability to concen- 
trate was much improved and was soon lost 
in his work. 

And so it continued for many days. 
Each time Nells was hungry, he ate from 
the basket which never was empty of food. 
At the end of the week, Nells began to 
feel quite puzzled by the basket. He 
also began to notice that his easel and 
the tables seemed higher than they had 
been before. By the end of the second 
week, it became obvious that Hells was 
shrinking. He could barely reach the 
table tops. It had to be the doing of 
the Boheims , thought Nells angrily, and 
something had to be done about it. 

He headed to the glen where the par- 
ty had been. It took much longer tlr' 
ti ia a because of his shorter legs, 1..e 
Impossible Thicket did not part for him 
as it had before, and was so much high- 
er. He pushed and pulled at the bushes, 


Nells, continued 

but could not get through, "Sethi" he 
shouted, "let me ini A terrible thing is 
happening and I know it's your fault! 
Sethi".,; . . 

He yelled and yelled. Finally, 3 2th 
appeared over the thicket,, He smiled at 
Hells as though nothing Was changed, 

"I/hat a nice surprise ," said Seth, 
"but what on earth are you yelling about?" 

"What an I yelling about?" yelled 
Hells, "look at me! I'm a midget!" 

"You're not a midget." said Seth, 
"you're halfway to becom^ag a Beheim, " 

"But I don't T7ant to be a Boheim, 
I'm a person! How dare you do this to . 

"There is a solution to the problem, 
if you wish to take it," said Seth, "But 
give it much thought before you decide. 
Being a Boheim is not so bad. It's quite 
good really. You would be able to use 
your creative abilities with complete free- 
dom. There would be no concern for sales 
or food or supplies. Our supplies are un- 
limited and magical. Hot everyone is gi- 
ven this opportunity, only those of out- 
standing talent like yourself. You would 
of course, look like me, which is really 
quite attractive, I think, 

"If, however, your human form is so 
important to you, you have only to $%&p 
eating the leftovers in the Bountiful Bas- 
ket we gave you and return it to us with 
the Fine Blanket, and your life will re- 
turn to what it was. You will then never 
be able to return to our glen again. Too 
much of the magic from our food has en- 
tered your body. The moment you enter 
our glen you change into a Boheim, Go 
home now and give it much thought. This 

decision can only be made once, I will 
come to you in a few days. In the mean- 
time, you will find the Bountiful Basket 
empty, as any further ingestion of its 
contents would take the decision from 

• Nells returned home. He was hungry 
from his long walk. He Trent to the bas- 
ket ,- but it was empty, as Goth had said 
it would be. There was nothing el o i;i 
the house. He sat and thought. If he 
were a Boheim, he would not be able to 
go just anyplace. He'd have to ctay in 
the glen. That didn't really bother 
him too much. He preferred to be with 
nature. It might be nice to fly. All 
he really wanted to do was be able co 
paint. But he would be so small. And 
so Nells' thoughts wandered for the next 
few days. He was quite hungry by the 
time Seth arrived, 

"I have brought you food," said 
Seth, "I did not realize you were com- 
pletely without. Your decision must be 
based on what you truly desire and not 
on hunger. This is not Boheim food, and 
will only affect your hunger. Sat and 
rest, I will stay with you until your 
answer is ready. Please take your time," 

Seth then removed himself from 
Nells' presence and sat on the window 
sill where he did not move. 

The next day, Nells went through 
the Impossible Thicket and became a 
member of the Boheim tribe, where he 
lived a long and fulfilling life. 


Jan Allen 


The threadbare cape of the peasant 
hung limply upon his bent and bony shoul- 
ders. Old Danforth was on his 'way home 
from market with a few pennies in his 
pocket. Slowly, he chuff led into the soft 
stillness of the forest, 

Danforth' s cottage was yet several 
more miles do\m the road, and he was feel- 
ing tired. He sank do\m beside the path 
and rested his weary back against a mossy 

In the waning light, Danforth did not 
notice a tiny green Elfin shoe protruding 
from a clump of ferns, 

"I'll just rest here a moment," Dan- 
forth said, but the soothing nature of the 
forest began to work its magic, and he 
was soon fast asleep, 

Trodka, a kindhearted elf, emerged 
from his hiding place and surveyed the 
sleeping human. 

"Aye, it's a miserable life for some 
of this human lot," he said sympatheti- 
cally, as he gazed at Danforth' s work- 
worn hands and tattered clothes, 

Trodka fussed about the man in tiny 
elfin leaps, assessing his condition. 
With a quick gesture of his hands, rays 
of greenish hue burst from Trodka' s fin- 
gertips and wrapped the man' s slumbering 
form in a subtle emerald glow. 

While the healing rays worked their 
wizardry, Trodka concentrated his mind's 
eye to "cee" Danforth' s small cottage 
with its floxrer bed in front and field 
behind. The elf checked the soil con- 
dition and sensed that it was fertile, 
but needed a small trace element for 
better plant growth, 

Trodka took a tiny peek into the 
nan's destiny, sax/ the visit to co'.^e, 
and resolved to do something about it, 



The Helper, continued 

"You nust go down to the beach and 
gather sea weed for the field," Trodka 
whi-pered three times into the deeping 
man's ear'„ 

"Plant barley," Trodka again whis- 
pered three times into the man's ear. 
Then, Trodka withdrew, as dawn would soon 
be upon the forest. 

When Danforth awoke, a shaft of yel- 
low sunlight was warming his limbs , the 
birds were singing and he was surprised 
at how fit he felt. 

With a whistle on his lips, and a 
new contentment in his heart, Danforth 
sauntered toward home,, Although he was a 
poor peasant, he felt better about his 

During supper, Danforth said to his 
wife, "Sarah, I believe I will go down to 
the beach tomorrow and gather some sea 
weed for the field. Perhaps it will help 
the soil." 

So he did, and the barley was plant- 
ed and it grew lush in the happy summer 

While Danforth tended the field of 
barley, Sara tended her herb and flower 
garden. In front of their humble cottage 
it grew in joyful profusion. 

Trodka moved into the gnarled and 
ancient maple beside the barley field, and 
kept busy popping in and out of both field 
and garden, tending the plants with the 
love only the wee ones can conjure — and, 
helping as best he could to prepare for 
the visit which was to come. 

Before long, the promise that was 
spring became the plentitude of -all. 
Danforth and Sarah bustled about the farm, 
harvesting the herbs and barley, which 
would be used to make the tea and cakes 
to help pass the long winter evenings. 

Both Sarah and Danforth sensed the 
delightful magic that Trodka had woven a- 
bout their cottage, and were happy. 

As Sarah hung her herbs on the raft- 
ers above the stone fireplace, she mar- 
veled at their beauty and abundance. "If 
I didn't know better, I'd say these herbs 
had the kiss of an elf upon them," she 

Once, when Danforth had gone quietly 
to his morning tasks, he saw a floppy red 
hat leaping joyfully between the tall rows 
of ripening grain. 3y the time he got to 
that pert of the field, though, Trodka, 
who had a bit of imp in h~c personality, 
had become only a cloud of -ust and a tiny 
x ilting laugh. 

Ta.e summer' had not passed so happily 
m the jeweler's household in the next 
village, however. The jeweler's daughter 
had become ill with a ^daess for life aid 
would not smile or take part in any di- 
versions her distraught father pljmxied 
for her. 

The unhappy father had even gone to 
see the local sorceress £> >r advice, but 

&Uc% r t<y<y , KT'*- J n*- : ** in?**-'* f*^lg*^- A -t~f ■--*'-- ivfr f->-~. 

pering incantations for a half hour, burn- 
ing a white candle, than a b"i r . c k one, 
she muttered, "Though barley cake will 
heal the body, I fear it can have no 
effect upon the illness of the spirit." 

One lovely fall day, though", the 
jeweller resolved to try once more to 
cheer his direfully depressed daughter 
by taking her on a carriage ride ^- 'jgh 
the cornucopic countryside. 

Although it offered a panoranr of 
sea and sky. the ride only made his dau- 
ghter sigh. 

The young girl sat resplendent in 
the carriage: her silks rustling in the 
light breeze, jewels glox/ing upon her 
neck, and tiny golden rings adorning her 
fingers — - but not a spark of life in 
her heart. 

She looked at the countryside with 
a disinterested shrug, until the car- 
riage passed the Danforth cottage. The 
very air about the home seemed per- 
meated with happiness. 

The daughter saw a smiling Sarah in 
her coarse cotton dress bending care- 
fully among her berbs and flowers and 
her curiosity became aroused. 

"Father, may we stop and see the 
garden?" the child asked. 

"A peasant hovel," the father 
sniffed, but he was so happy that his 
daughter had showed even a tiny interest 
that he agreed to stop. 

Danforth and Sarah met the couple 
in the dooryard and welcomed them shy- 
ly. The young girl was so enthralled 
with the flower and herb garden that 
Sarah began to tell her some of the se- 
crets she had learned from the wondrous 

At first the girl could not under- 
stand how these poor peasants could be 
so genuinely happ}'. 

"How can you be happy without silks- :: 
the girl asked. 

"'My silk is the touch of a flower 
upon my cheek," Sarah replied. "And the 
colors are more brilliant than any wea- 
ver 1 s." 

"What about jewels?" the girl ask- 
ed, still persistent. 

"Hy jewels are finer than any 
Queen's," Sarah said. "I have the sap- 
phire °f the sparkling sea and the em- 
erald of the forest." 

. "Gold?" the girl asked. 

"Hy gold is the ripening grain," 
Sarah said. "In the winter, my hunger is 
for grain, not gold," she added with 
a twinkle. 

Meanwhile, the jeweler had discov- 
ered that Danforth had a surplus of faar-' 
ley and remembering the witch's words, 
he purchased some to have mace in'~ > bar- 
ley calces 

By the tine the jeweler am! tfaufg&^stC 
departed, the girl wag. .Lau2?fc£o(g p, ■" '-''!■ 
---,-/-/ r'*-- • ^■■■-■■-uf ?...»«-. >««■ *r» i'.u-<<z of these cir>- 



The Helper, continued 

pie folk who had succeeded where all his 
gold had failed. 

"How can I repay you for your good- 
ness?" the jeweller asked. 

Danforth and Sarah assured the jewel- 
ler that the satisfaction of having helped 
another was recompense enough. 

The jeweller and daughter departed, 
promising to return again soon. 

Trodka had witnessed the entire 
scene and was quite pleased as well. He 
surprised Danforth and Sarah by leaping 
upon an old oak log and singing: 
"Simple joys are the best 

A summer day, a sparkling sea 

A butterfly gay, a buzzing bee, 

The search for self ends when we 
Learn the joy of how just to bo." 
Sarah and Danforth were honored to 
see the elf's performance because it 
was widely known in the forest that only 
the pure of heart can see en elf. 

Later, after the sun had set, Sarah 
crept quietly out to the old maple ti ^e 
and left a special treat for the kir i- 
hearted elf: a new pair of green elf 
shoes — with bells on the toes» 

An elfin song, a robin's nest 


Len Overcash 

J. Aschenbrenner 


The screen door banged shut and a- 
nother customer came out of Proctor's 
store counting his change. Russel Dean 
stood beside the large, dirt-caked win- 
dow and watched him walk away. As the 
man dropped the coins into his pocket, 
Russel * wished that one or two of them 
would miss the opening and fall noise- 
lessly onto the broad gravel driveway. 
Or that the man had holes in his pock- 
ets as Russel did. But it did not hap- 

Once again, Russel thruot his small 
fist into the left pocket of his worn 
jeans, and again the small fingers felt 
the slit along the bottom that had al- 
lowed his savings of two weeks to slip 
away unnoticed and unfelt. 

He cursed, using the worst word he 
could think of at the moment. "Darn!" 

He cursed the hole in his pocket, he 
cursed the store for charging nonsy for 
things that people needed or wanted to 
play with, he cursed himself for not keep- 
ing the coins in his hand, and he cursed 
the world for being so unfair. His plans 
for a wonderful, battle-filled summer 
were demolished, lost with the money. 
Now there was the whole summer ahead and 
nothing to fill those long, hot hours. 

Russel started toward the old wooden 
screen door of the whitewashed, cinder- 
block store and almost went inside for 
another look at the clear plastic bag of 
Civil War soldiers he had been coveting 
for weeks. He knew exactly where they lay; 
on the second shelf next to the cans of 
coup, among the balloons and plastic mo- 
del cars. He had come to know every sol- 
dier in the bag, the positions they were 
frozen into, and how he would place them 
in the dirt of the tiny yard beside his 
trailor home. He had even named some of 
them. But his money was all gone, lost, 
and he did not go in. 


I have a friendly ort 

who lives beneath my bed. 

he scurries amongst the fuzzballs there 

in a home of lint and dirty socks. 

My ort is very rarely seen, 

but can be heard most every night. 

He thumps and clicks, 

he bumps and ticks, 

he booms and bangs, 

he moans and groans. 

I've never really seen my ort, 

but I know he ' s there 

but I know he • s there , 

oeneath my bed, amongst the fuzzballs there 


He hadn't felt this badly since the 
time his mother had promised to buy him 
a surprise gift and it turned out not to 
be a toy but five pairs of white cotton 

Suddenly he began to think about 
stealing them. It would be easy enough 
to do if old man Proctor still owned the 
store because he was going blind as well 
hard of hearing* But last month his sen 
had taken it over and knew exactly whure 
everything was and what might be missing, 
so when he called the police, he would 
tell them to arrest a small, blond-haired 
twelve-year-old boy who lived in the 
trailor court next to the stone quarry, 
and was named Dean. 

Russel meandered across the broad 
uneven gravel driveway, kicking at large 
stones and rusty tin cans flattened by 
the cars that parked there. He did not 
look back at the grocery store; nor did 
he retrace the path the meadow and corn- 
field. He had spent an hour locking un- 
der rocks and reaching into clunps of 
tall grass seeking his money and had not 
found a single coin. It was as though 



Toy Soldiers, continued 

all of then had fallen into a hole in the 
earth and it had closed tightly over them. 
He xrondered how it could have happened so 
mysteriously, so completely., 

''Russel walked slowly toward his 
trailor home without foe '^ag of soft plas- 
tic soldiers, and without hope of ever be- 
ing able to buy them soon. He wished that 
school were starting tomorrow, so he could 
skip buying lunch and start saving up all 
over again. 

When he realized how many days away 
that school was , he nearly began to cry, 

"It's not fair!" he sobbed alu^d. 
"If c not fair at alii" . 

Then he heard the sound of a car 
shifting gears as it climbed the hill be- 
hind him and had an impulse to work snne 
kind of miracle, Russel told himself 
hopefully, "If I reach the next telephone 
pole before this car passes me, I'll find 
. my money on the table at home , e , it'll 
be there „ <, this has just been a bad 

The car's engine began to fully ex- 
ert itself and, just to be safe, Russel 
increased his strides Though he didn't 
dare turn around and spoil the magic, he 
could feel the car closing the distance 
between them. 

The car crested the bill. 

The pole wasn't that far away, but it 
would be close, so Russel staated running 
and chantingo 

"On the table , , ,at home . . . on 
the table."- 

He was almost to the pole when he 
stumbled and tumbled headlong down the 
grassy embankment,,' 

The car left a thin cloud of dust 
and litter floating in its wake* 

For a long time, Russel did not move. 
He wasn't injured very badly; his right 
foot ached, but did not swells He just 
lay there in the long stiff grass under 
the hot June sun with the swarms of bugs 
and ante 

Finally, he moved and sat up, perspi- 
ration dotting his forehead along the 
hairline e He was thirsty, and it Was time 
to continue homeward, Russel stood cau- 
tiously, testing his ankle, but every- 
thing was fine. He thought that to be 
fitting — today his bones were invince- 
able, but his feelings were as fragile 
as glass, 

"That one didn't count," he rautteredo 
But it had counted,, His magic had been 
beaten, and once broken, he knew, like a 
mirror it could never be put together 
r ight. 

He climbed slowly up the embankment 
and continued his sorrowful Walk to the 
trailor court where he lived. He fre- 
quently glanced over his shoulder at the 
crest of the hill, listening for the 
sound of another car, but the long, 
straight road was entirely empty and 
stayed that w'a.y for several minutes. 


Then the only car traveling it was going 
north, the other way, into Joliet. 

Russel: ambled along the gravel shoul- 
der, kicking a discarded beer can until 
it skidded down the embankment in front 
of the Hubbs' house, a massive two-story 
brown house nestled under towering i . '.: 
trees that shaded the front lawn, I . the 
back was an apple orchard where Rusrel 
stole apples all summer. The Hubbs. own- 
ed nearly a full acre immediately next to 
he trailor court, which they also owned, 

Russel looked around the yard, but, 
like everything else in the world thi^ 
morning, it was lifeless. Furtively 
glancing at the curtained windows, he 
started walking in the ruts of their 

Mrs. Hubbs did not like the kids 
from the trailor court using her land- 
scaped yard as a short-cut and would not 
hesitate to open the door and yell until 
they went back to the highway. If the 
warnings were ignored, she would threat- 
en to throw them ^ut when the monthly 
rent was due. But Russel went ahead 

The Hubbs had a son, who, like Rus- 
sel, was an only child, Jimmy was a 
chubby, brown-haired boy who wore black- 
framed, thick-lensed glasses. They 
were the same age, in the same grade at 
school , and sat beside each other, but 
did not get along very veil, Jimmy was 
always wearing new, clean clothes , had 
many toys to play with, and never had 
less than two dollars in his wallet, 
Russel didn't even have a wallet. 

This puzzled and angered Russel. 
Why someone as dumb and fat and creepy 
as Jimmy Hubbs should have all of these 
things, especially when he did not want 
most of them, and Russel couldn't afford 
to buy the things he truly wanted. 

Just where the driveway widened and 
formed an easy el to the right in front 
of the three-car garage, next to the 
gnarled trunk of a massive oak, was the 
large sandbox where Jimmy spent hours 
playing. As Russel passed close by, he 
noticed the abundance of toys laying 
half-buried in the yellow sand. Shiny 
new metal cars, plastic dinosaurs, and 
green army soldiers were everywhere. 

He stopped and gazed at them, want- 
ing terribly to have just a few of the 
soldiers and they would fit into the spe- 
cial cigar box he kept hidden under his 
bed. Besides, Jimmy would never miss 
them. He had so much stuff that he 
couldn't possibly remember it all. 

Russel looked toward the hcus-e, 
searching the windows for a face, but 
saw none. It would be easy, all he had 
to do was lean down quickly and scamper 
away. Easy ; 

His eyes darted nervously from the 
house to the sandbox, then back to the 
house. His heartbeat began to increase. 


Toy Soldiers, continued 

Again a look toward the house. He was en- 
gulfed with a fever of energy. 

He had "only to bend over . . . 

"Hi ya, Russ!" 

Rucsel was so startled that he near- 
ly fell backward into the sandbox as he 
whirled around . 

"v7a';i2-ha been up to?? Jimmy asked ami- 
ably, He was standing in the doorway 
that led to the basement. 

"Nothing," Russel answered, wonder- 
ing if Jimmy, had done that on purpose,, 

"Wanna go into my basement and help 
me play with my new HO train set?" 

Russel shrugged. He loathed Jimmy 
for always parading his toys and expect- 
ing everyone to «e impressed and want to 
play with them, 

"It's set up on n wooden table And 
has buildings and cars and tiny people. 
My dad got it for me because I passed 
with good grades," Jimmy's eyes gleamed 
and he gestured with his hand. "Come on," 

!, I seen a train set-up like that 
downtown at Walt's Hobby Shop," Russel 
said. He was wondering why Jimmy was 
being so nice to him, and why Billy Kli- 
ner wasn't around. They were always to- 
gether, always* And when they were to- 
gether, they wouldn't have the slightest 
thing to do with a poor boy like himself, 
except to taunt and torment him until he 
lost his temper and fled in tearful anger 
to his trailor, because he was too small 
to fight them both, 

Russel kept watching the basement 
door for Kliner's sudden appearance. 
Maybe he was hiding, waiting for Russel 
to accept Jimmy's invitation, 

"No," Russel told him, 

"Aw . , c'mon It's real neat," 
Jimmy started to advance toward Russel, 

Russel balled his hands into tight 
fists. Today he would fight them J He 
would call upon some unknoxm superhuman 
power and smash Jimmy's pug nose, and 
when Billy Kliner came charging up the 
basement steps, he would flip him into 
the grass and pounce on him, beating him 
to a pulp Just like on TV, 

Russel asked menacingly, "Where's 

Jimmy shrugged. "I donno." 

Russel stared at the basement door, 
but it stayed empty, 

"He's not here. Honest!" Jimmy pro- 

Russel glanced across the highway at 
the sprawling cluster of houses called 
Preston Heights. Long rows of square 
t Tr o and three bedroom houses stood close 
to each other, differing only in shades 
of color or landscaping. Billy Kliner 
lived in the one directly across from 
the Hubbs, and the back door was open. 
Their car stood baking in the driveway B 

"He's home. He . . . wouldn't come 
over today," Jimmy pleaded., "I'm not 
lying. " 

"Better not be," Russel 's 
stance was still tense, wound tight like 
an old clock, but as he searched Jimmy's 
sorrowful face, his anger thinned, then 
evaporated. He was confused by the dif- 
fering emotions coursing through him. 
One part of him wanted to play wi"': im- 
my and his huge supply of toys, hl 2 
even become close friends and be able to 
play here all summer, but the other pert 
reminded him that it would never happen* 
Jimmy only wantedhim around to shot? off 
to until Billy returned, which would be 

A thought began to gel in Russel 's 
mind. Billy was home, but they weren't 
together — neither here or across the 
highway at Billy's — which could mean 
only one of two things: they had an ar- 
gument (impossible); or Perky was prowl- 
ing about and they were afraid of being 

Russel grinned. This sudden dis- 
covery couldn't pass without comment. 

"Perky lookin' for ya?" 

"Noi" Jimmy squawked, involuntarily 
taking a quick look behind the trailor 
court, at the dull silver one where 
Perky lived. 

"Yes he is. Or you'd be pla3 7 ing 
with Billy," Russel sneered in delight. 
"You're scared!" 

Anger boil e d visibly in J?mmy's 

"Well „ . , so are you!" 

"I aint," Russel taunted- "Me And 
Perky 're friends." 

But that wasn't quite true, 2very- 
one at Laraway School was afraid of Per- 
ky, even teachers. Perky, also known 
as Wayne Perkins, was the oldest, big- 
gest, and meanest kid in eighth grade,. 
He wan trouble. He ruled the playground 
by force and to resist was to invite 
disaster. Russel trembled whenever Per- 
ky shouted his name and came stomping 
his way. He would slump and cower like 
a whipped pup in Wayne's presence, an- 
swering any question, telling him any 
secret he knew, because he couldn't stop 
himself. But Russel had little to wor- 
ry about. He was much too small for 
Wayne to bother expanding a tiny amount 
of energy on. He was a mere pilot fish 
that flitted around the great white 


"I bet," Jimmy answered. 
"Wayne don't bother me." 
They stood a few feet apart, star- 
ing. Both had something the other need- 
ed. Jimmy needed someone to show his 
possessions to and Russel needed to know 
how it felt to own things. Thej'' shared 
mutual feelings of loneliness and frus- 
tration. Russel knew he shouldn't be 
ao abrasive, but the disappointment of 
losing his money, and the molded plas- 
tic soldiers, was overwhelming, burst- 
ing out of him. He would do nearly any- 



Toy Soldiers, continued 

thins to get those soldiers, including 
..being a buddy to Jimmy Hu.bbs, 

Finally, Jimmy admitted it. 
"I wish Perky would leave me alone," 
- he. said, remembering the last weeks of 
school when Perky bullied him every day. 
It had been a tormentingly long time, and 
seemed to be starting again, already,, "I 
-wish he would go away for a long, long 
time . . . forever o I'd give anything." 
He paused, "I wish he'd die!" 

A galvanizing shock suddenly struck 
Russel, a scheme clicked to life inside 
his heado He had overheard a conversation 
between two teachers discussing Wayne, who 
was flunking again (at the end of the 
term) and warned him. So Russel felt that 
a favor was owed to him in return, and if 
Wayne could be persuaded to leave Jimmy 
alone for a few weeks , ... visions of 
Civil War battles once again danced in his 

"What if I could fix it so that Per- 
ky would leave you alone. What would you 
give me?" 

"You can't," Jimmy replied. "He 
hates me too nflich*" 

"Yes I can," Russel lied. Anything 
for those soldiers* 

"How?" Jimmy demanded, 

Russel shrugged, "I just can*" 

Then he had another idea, one that 
would surely work if this angle proved 
fruitless. He would threaten to tell 
Perky that Jimmy wished him dead! He 
grinned, he had Jimmy in the perfect spot, 

"Why would he let you tell him what 
to do?" 

"Okay," Russel said, starting to 
walk away. "If you don't want my help ." 

"Wait!" Jimmy said loudly, his eyes 
behind the thick lenses pleading. "Why 
would you do that for me?" 

"You said you'd give anything to be 
rid of Perky, didn't you?" 

Jimmy hesitated, wary of what "any- 
thing" consisted of. He had lots and lots 
of possessions, many that he loved and ne- 
ver allowed anyone else tc touch. He 
vJ "ould not part with those for any reason. 

"Well „ . . not anything. What ... 
would you want?" 

Russel glanced at the sandbox. "All 
those soldiers , , . and a dollar." 

The small fee puzzled Jimmy, He had 
expected Russel to ask for his train set 
or something equal in value. He had for- 
gotten the soldiers that lay scattered in 
the sand. 

"Don't got a dollar," he bargained. 
"Do too!" 

"Half the army men, and I pick them 

"Mo dice." Russel was beginning to 
hate Jimmy very deeply. He could picture 
the beating Perky would give him and he 
would make sure he saw it. 

"Okay," Jimmy whispered. He was 
trapped and just wanted to >e lejft alone* 

Perky roamed freely, his parents not ca- 
ring where he went, and he often crossed 
the highway into the subdivision where 
Billy lived. Eventually, Jimmy knew, 
he would be caught and hurt. He was a 
prisoner in his own yard. He would try 
anything, even listen to this runt. 

After his mother left for work, 
Russel sat on the wide, weathered, wood- 
en step in front of his trailor door 
watching, one aisle over, where Perky 
and his dad worked on their car. The 
sky was dark and star-speckled, the 
temperatures perfect, but Russel wasn't 
enjoying it like he usually did. The 
deal had keen made, the soldiers were 
stashed in the cigar box under his bed, 
yet, unless he came up with some con- 
vincing reasons for Perky, he would have 
to give them back in a few days. Jimmy 
promised to pay the dollnr when he got 
his allowance. 

Russel realized that he had a great- 
er obstacle to overcome than he first 
thought. There was something between 
Perky and Jimmy that he couldn't under- 
stand, something sinister on Perky' s 
part. Russel could see it in his eyes 
whenever Jimmy was near. He seemed to 
get satisfaction, evil satisfaction, from 
picking on Jimmy, and needed to do it 

Perhaps he should forget the whole 
thing and not risk having Perky get 
mad and turn on him instead. But in all 
of his life, Russel had never wanted any- 
thing as badly as those Civil War sol- 

Russel thought of the hole in his 
pocket and the hot lunches he had 
skipped at school to save the money. 
His stomach had growled and grumbled 
every day, aching dully in the late af- 
ternoon, but he had succeeded, Then, 
in the grass of the cow pasture behind 
Jimmy's house, he lost the coins . . . 
gone forever. 

He couldn't ask his mother for the 
money because there was never anything 
left after the rent was paid and the 
groceries bought. A hundred things came 
before toy soldiers. Maybe she would 
bring home another nice man to stay a 
few days, like the tall, skinny guy 
last summer who gave him a dollar for no 
reason. He wished he had that dollar 
right now. 

His heart was aching much more than 
his belly ever had. 

Illuminated only by the light of 
the dx-opcord under the car, Perky and his 
dad looked like grease— mottled ghoctf 
as they moved from the car to the tool- 
box and back in their efforts to ke~p 
the thing running. Their trailer vas 
Parallel to the edge of the Hubbs' pro- 

( continued'' 


Toy Soldiers, continued 

perty, the car sat on the concrete slab 
raised on a hydraulic jack,, 

Russel watched them working for sev- 
eral long minutes o Everything was going 
wrong o Perky had to be convinced to stop 
bullying Jimmy, but he had nothing to of- 
fer in return for that promise., Black- 
mailing Jimmy about wanting Perky dead 
wouldn't work either. He knew Jimmy would 
tell and get him in more trouble,, His 
plan didn't seem so brilliant now„ 

Russel arose, walking silently on his 
worn sneakers, keeping himself in the sha- 
dows, but meandering in a wide circuit to- 
wards the Perkins' trailor. His wander- 
ings ended under the canopy of budding ap- 
ple trees on the Hubbs property, directly 
behind the trailor, LyinG on his stomach 
in the uncut cool grass he could see them 
working, struggling with things Russel had 
never known existed, or fathom their use. 
It was funny to watch and listen to them. 
They yelled and swore at each other , Ev- 
erything seemed to be going wrong and Per- 
ky was getting the blame Just like those 
f u nny men on TV, 

After a few minutes, Russel left the 
cover of the trailor, the drop-cord snak- 
ing out the open door. Perky and his fa- 
ther were completely submerged under the 
rusting automobile, unaware of anything 
except what they were wrestling with. The 
car was supported only by the hydraulic 
jack, its handle within easy reach, Rus- 
sel wondered what might happen if he gave 
a slow twist and lowered it, 3et there 
would be some fast action then! They'd 
crawl out like a couple of scared gophers i 
Funny ! 

Of course s he would have to hide in 
a much better place, so they wouldn't 
find him and realize what he'd done. So, 
during the excitement; he would curl up 
behind the wheels where the darkness was 
thickest and go home through the Hubbs' 
and the pasture when the excitement was 

All he had to do was stretch out a 
little and turn the handle like he had 
when he played with it once- 

And the car would come down,, 

"Maybe, just maybe," Russel thought, 
"If it came down just right, it would do 
sc n ething to Perky,, Hurt him badly enough 
to keep him away from Jimmy for a while, 
so I could keep the money and the army 
men, " 

Harold Perkins wriggled from beneath 
the car and told W>yne that he was going 

into 'the house -to eat and that Wayne was 
to finish bolting something together., 

Russel froze until he could hear the 
heavy tread through the floor of the 
trailor„ The only noises to be hea~ a 
were the ones Perky made with his 

All he had to do was reach out a 
bit and turn and hope for the best., 
Just one sharp twist , . , 

Mr s Dean was a Qmall, thin woman,, 
Worn plain from lnng hours of waiting 
on tables at the Paradise Restaurant and 
escaping her monotonous situation in 
bottles of whiskey and a few sympathetic 

"You be good tonight, huh, Russy," 
she said, smoothing a wr inkle in her 

Russel was deeply engrossed in set- 
ting up his soldiers in the tufts of 
weeds that passed for grass, dead to the 
real world., 

"Did you hear me, Russy?" 

"Uhnnn „ . »ya," 

"There's some beef stew in the ice 
box for you to warm up later for cupper " 

No answer , 

"Where ' d you get all those little 
men?"' S ^- G asked, not really concerned 
listerias ■••for the beeping of her ride's 
car horn,, 

"From Jimmy Hubbs, He gave em to 

"Why'd he do that?" 

"I did him a favor," 

The horn blared on the 
mer air, 

"Well, watch yerself 9 
what happened to the Perkins boy to hap- 
pen to yoUo" She mussed his hair lov- 
ingly. He was all 5 he had that matter- 
ed and she felt sorry that nothing 
seemed to ever get better for the two of 

"It won't ever happen to me, Mom," 
he said truthfully. 

Then she was gone until a very long 
time after dark, 

Russel went back to his war, deploy- 
ing the soldiers around the clumps of . 
tough grass and into the holes he had 
scratched in the hard-packed dirt with 
a bent soup spoon. He was sorry that 
Perky had died two days after the car 
had fallen on him, but that's how life 
was. Besides, it had completely solved 
hi s problem. 

humid sum- 
I don ' t want 


D, Preston 


Rowdy 'Ryder was a cox/boy bold, he travelled far and wide, 
His hat was white, his saddle red, with blue stars on the sides. 
Economy was his horse's name, a tired, beaten nag, 
A scornful st&ed, she was indeed, whose middle seemed to sag, 



The Adventures of Rowdy Ryder, continued 

So Rowdy vent a riding, and adventured all around, 

"I've got to prove," caid he with groove, 

"I'm the meanest dude in toxm. " 

So ride he did along the trail, and heard a noise so weird, 

That he turned around, and on the ground was an old guy with a beart. 

"Who are you?" asked Rowdy. The old man leered an d said, 

"Crush rock and roll and mini-skirts, or I'll chop off your head. 1 " 

He wore a night black turbin and his eyes were filled with hete. 

Quoth he, "My name is Allah, and I own the Golden Gate!" 

"And down with Women's Lib!" he raved, while standing on his head, 

"Repress their civil liberties and give them veils instead!" 

And gesturing at Mecca, he said, "Nov/ it's time to pray!" 

"I like your costume, Hopalong, now run along and play!" 

Rowdy muttered audibly, and started down the trail. 

"The old man's nuts," he said aloud, "I can't hit that old frail." 

So Rowdy rode along aways and saw the. queerest sight. 

A frog with a tin cup clutched in -^and was standing on the righto 

"Spare a nickel?" asked the frog, and to his utter glee, 

Rowdy dropped into the vessel not just one, but three., 

"Thank you," said the frog, and then did something rather trite. 

He t ur ned crimson color, crossed the road, and fled from sights 

"This is bizarre," said Rowdy, "but the fellow was in need." 

"And I must preserve my image of a nice guy with good deeds." 

So he spurred on the Economy and hastened down the road, 

Ever wary on the lookout for a loaded crimson toado 

When suddenly, out of the bushes, there came a monstrous roar, 

Like the bu Z2 ing of some chainsaws, maybe forty, maybe more! 

And there emerged a giant carnivore, a grizzly bear by name 

Its coat was red, its claws were sharp, 

And set to kill and maim 

Rowdy Ryder drew his six gun, covering the bear, 

And said, "Now don't you move ai„ inch, you just stay put right there." 

Well, the bear just sort of chuckled, and he said, "Now, let 

Me see, how many of your bones could I possibly break 

Before you put six shots in me?" 

Rowdy weighed his choices and decided with a frown, 

"I am the meanest!" he proclaimed. "No bear will stare me down!" 

So he aimed his six-gun carefully. (So the bear was in the way) 

They Rowdy pulled the trigger and the x/hole world went away. 

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